CJW**' 


IJSs  »*W; 


For  INFANTS  and  CHILDREN 


“ Castoria  is  so  well  adapted  to  chil- 
dren that  1 recommend  it  as  superior  to 
any  prescription  known  to  me.” 

H.  A.  Archer,  M.  D., 
hi  Co.  Oxford  St.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y, 


**  The  use  of  Castoria  is  so  universal 
and  its  merits  so  well  known  that  it 
seems  a work  of  supererogation  to  en- 
dorse it.  Few  are  the  intelligent  fami- 
lies who  do  not  keep  Castoria  within 
easy  reach.”  Carlos  Martyn,  D.D., 
New  York  City. 

Late  Pastor  Bloomingdale  Reformed 
Church. 


Castoria  cures  Colic,  Constipation, 
Sour  Stomach,  Diarrhoea,  Eructation, 
Kills  Worms,  gives  sleep,  and  promotes 
digestion, 

Without  injurious  medication. 


“ For  several  years  I have  recommen- 
ded your  Castoria,  a d shall  always 
continue  to  do  so  as  it  has  invariably 
produced  beneficial  results.” 

Edwin  F.  Pardee,  M.  D.~ 
“The  Wmthrop,”  125m  Street  and  7th 
Ave.,  New  York  City. 


The  Centaur  Co.,  77  Murray  Street,  New  York. 


c/) 

Bs 

-J 

Ul 

> 

o 

•J 


American  Authors’,  International,  Westminster, 
American  Novelists’,  Foreign,  Political  and  Scientific 
Leather  Clad,  Detective,  Occult,  Illustrated, 
Seaside  Library. 

Comprising  the  largest  collection  of  popular  works  of  Fiction, 
History  and  Literature,  both  new  and  Standard,  ever  published. 

UNITED  STATES  BOOK.  COMPANY, 

PUBLISHERS,  MEW  YORK. 


JAMES  McCREERY  & CO., 

Broadway  and  11th.  St., 

New  York. 

SILKS,  SATINS,  VELVETS. 

The  assortment  of  Plain  Black  Silk  Fabrics 
aione  contains  over  275  different  weaves  and 
qualities;  of  Fancy  Blacks  there  are  about 
200. 

Send  for  samples  of  quality  and  style 
desired. 


SERIES 


A Delsartean  Scrap  Book 

HEALTH,  PERSONALITY,  HOUSE-DECORATION, 
BEAUTY,  DRESS,  Etc. 

Compiled  by  FREDERIC  SANBORN, 

WITH  A PREFACE  BY 

WALTER  CRANE. 


Lovell’s  Literature  Series,  No.  124,  1 vol.,  i2mo.,  paper  cover,  25c, 

•/ 1 series  of  lectures  or  talks  on  Delartism , based  on  the 
teachings  of  EDMUND  RUSSELL  AND  wife,  whose 
pictures  adorn  the  cover . 

It  is  a full,  complete  and  systematic  setting  forth  of  the  laws  of 
expression  and  beauty  taught  by  Delsarte,  and  so  finely  illustrated  by 
Mr.  and  Mrs.  Edmund  Russell. — Ohio  State  Journal . 

A valuable  compendium  of  useful  suggestions,  definitions,  talks, 
descriptions,  hints  and  notes. — Chicago  Journal . 

This  book  will  prove  of  the  greatest  interest  and  value  to  all  who 
admire  grace  and  tact  and  civility  of  person  and  manner. — Portland 
Transcript . 

This  is  the  clearest  and  brightest  exposition  of  it  (Delsartism)  of 
which  we  have  knowledge. — Boston  Times , 

The  book  is  immensely  popular  and  very  interesting.  It  is  a com- 
pilation well  worth  reading. — Elmira  Echoes . 

Delsartism  is  the  systematic  observance  of  absolute  principles  of 
life  and  being,  and  as  a means  of  instruction  to  this  end,  the  “Scrap 
Book  ” will  be  invaluable. — Chicago  Inter-Ocean . 

The  editing  is  intelligent  and  sympathetic,  and  the  compilation  will 
prove  useful  wherever  studied. — Troy  Times . 


UNITED  STATES  BOOK  COMPANY 

SUCCESSORS  TO 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY 

150  WORTH  STREET,  COR.  MISSION  PLACE 


P.  O.  Box  1992. 


New  York. 


WORKS  OF 


RUDYARD  KIPLING. 

plain  gales  from  tbe  Ibtlls 

PAPER,  50  CENTS.  CLOTH,  $1.00. 

SotSierg  Cbtee  and  otber  Storieg 

PAPER,  50  CENTS.  CLOTH,  $1.00* 

Cbe  pbantom  ’TRfcftgbaw  anb  otber  Categ 

PAPER,  50  CENTS.  CLOTH,  $1.00. 

Cbe  Storg  of  tbe  (Babsbgg 

PAPER,  25  CENTS. 

fnbian  Caleg 

ONE  VOLUME,  I2M0.,  CLOTH,  GILT  TOP,  77I  PAGES,  PRICE,  $1.50, 

This  is  the  only  edition  of  “ Plain  Tales  from  the  Hills,”  “ Soldier9 
Three  and  other  stories, ” “The  Story  of  the  Gadsbys,”  “Phantom 
’Rickshaw,”  issued  in  America  with  the  sanction  of  the  author. 

departmental  3>ittieg>  JSarracb  TRoom  JSallabg  anfr  otbet 
Detgeg 

ONE  VOLUME,  I2M0.,  CLOTH,  GILT,  $1.25. 

We  have  just  issued  under  the  authorization  of  Rudyard  Kipling,  a 
volume  of  poems,  which  contains  “Departmental  Ditties,”  “Barrack 
Room  Ballads,”  and  a collection  of  Kipling’s  fugitive  verses,  which  He 
has  recently  arranged  for  this  volume.  This  is  the  first  edition  of  Kip- 
ling’s poetical  writings  issued  in  this  country.  The  press  universally  praise 
his  poetical  work,  the  style  of  which  is  crisp,  terse,  witty  and  entertaining. 

"dttDCt  tbC  IDCO&ttg  PAPER,  25  CENTS. 

Ubc  Xlabt  tbat  jfailefr  paper,  25  cents.  Original  ending. 

gbe  Xtgbt  tbat  ffatleb  cloth,  gilt,  $1.25.  Revised  and  enlarged  edltiooi 


EXTRACTS  FROM  THE  PRESS. 

“ The  masterly  force  and  grasp  of  the  author  are  plainly  evident.”-* 
J\l.  O,  States , 

“ The  style  of  the  writer  is  original,  vigorous  and  clean  cut.”~ 
Chicago  Herald.  I 

“ His  story  is  always  original,  often  startling,  sometimes  tragic  to  a 
degree.” — Christian  Union . 

* * * Whose  stories  are  told  with  an  amiable  egotism,  infectious 
humor,  and  in  a picturesque  dialect  that  will  send  his  name  ringing  down 
to  posterity. — Lovisville  Courier  Journal. 

UNITED  8TATES  BOOK  COM  PAN YA 

SUCCESSORS  TO 

JOHN  W.  LOVELL  COMPANY, 

'\  142  TO-1 60  WORTH  8THEET,  NEW  YORK. 


A Glorious  Fortune 


By  WALTER  BESANT. 


NEW  YORK: 

®EORGE  MUNRO,  PUBLISHER, 
17  to  27  Vandewater  Street. 


BURNETT’S  COCOAINE. 

Cure®  Dandruff. 

PROMOTES  THE  GROWTH  AND  PRESERVES  THE  BEAUTY  OF 

THE  HUMAN  HAIR. 

A Compound  of  Cocoanut  Oil  possessing  the  peculiar  properties  which  exactly 
suit  the  various  conditions  of  the  human  hair. 

It  softens  the  hair  when  harsh  and  dry . It  soothes  the  irritated  scalp . It 
affords  the  richest  lustre.  It  remains  longest  in  effect.  It  pre • 
vents  the  hair  from  falling  off.  It  promotes  its  healthy , 
vigorous  growth.  It  is  not  greasy  or  sticky . 

It  leaves  no  disagreeable  odor . 


For  Sale  by  all  Druggists  in  two  sizes,  $1.00  and  50  cents. 


HEADACHE 


PLEASANT and  SAFE. 

CONTAINS 
NO  MORPHIA, 

NO  CHLORAL, 
NO  ANTIPYRIN. 


Neura^!jm0iisiie$$ 

CURED  IN  20  MINUTES 


I consider  BR0M0- 
SELTZER  a God-send 
to  those  subject  to 
Nervous  Headache. 

C.  S.  MOSHER,  Balto. 


. . BY  TAKING  . . 

Bromo- Seltzer 


TRIAL  1 /v}e  SOLD  BY  ALL  DRUGGISTS, 
SIZE  v u LOa  0P  mailed  on  receipt  of  price. 


Emerson  Drug  Co. 

Sole  Proprietors,  Baltimore,  Md 


GAIN 

ONE  POUND  A DAY. 

A GAIN  OF  A POUND  A DAY  IN  THE  CASE  OF  A 
MAN  WHO  HAS  BECOME  “ ALL  RUN  DOWN,”  AND  HAS 
BEGUN  TO  TAKE  THAT  REMARKABLE  FLESH  PRODUCER, 


SCOTT’S  EMULSION 


OF  PURE  COO  LIVER  OIL  WITH  Hypophospliites 
of  Lime  and  Soda  is  nothing  unusual.  This  feat  has  been 

PERFORMED  OVER  AND  OVER  AGAIN.  PALATABLE  AS  MILK.  ENDORSED 

by  Physicians.  Sold  by  all  Druggists*  Avoid  substitutions 

AND  IMITATIONS. 


#2.3 


GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


i 

4 

CHAPTER  I. 

JOHNNY  OF  OREGON. 

The  road,  which  is  little  more  than  a rough  track — in 
the  open  parts,  during  the  summer,  dust;  in  the  winter, 
mud — runs  at  this  place  through  the  virgin  forest,  un- 
touched, for  the  most  part,  by  ax,  and  almost  untrodden 
by  foot  of  man.  It  is  a very  remote  and  untrodden  track; 
it  has  not  yet  even  advanced,  like  a young  plow-boy,  to 
the  dignity  of  corduroy;  it  runs  along  slopes  of  hills  and 
across  the  valleys  between  them.  When  the  way  is  clear 
of  trees,  which  is  not  often,  one  gets  a view  of  the  blue 
Pacific  far  away  in  the  west;  every  evening  the  sun  sinks 
into  it,  making  a glorious  double  rose  of  evening  in  the 
sky  above  and  the  sea  beneath.  Yet  every  half-dozen 
miles  or  so  one  may,  perhaps — or  may  not,  perhaps — come 
across  a clearing  or  farm  cut  out  of  the  solid  forest,  the 
stumps  of  the  trees  still  sticking  dolefully  out  of  the 
ground,  and  the  fields  divided  and  staked  out  by  rough 
snake-fences.  In  a few  years,  when  the  stumps  have  quite 
disappeared,  and  beautiful  green  things  have  grown  over 
the  ugly  fences,  this  farm,  with  its  backing  of  wood  and 
hill,  will  be  as  perfectly  beautiful  as  it  is  now  unkempt, 
ragged,  and  unsightly. 

You  never  meet  anybody  walking  along  this  road,  for  it 
runs  straight  up  into  the  hills,  where  it  is  presently  lost; 
but  in  the  fields  and  upon  the  new  farms  you  may  some- 
times see  a man  at  work.  It  is,  in  fact,  on  the  other  side 
of  the  Rocky  Mountains,  which  seems  a great  way  off  to 
£ll  except  those  philosophers  who  find  the  world  so  sm^ll; 


777907 


4 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


in  the  land  of  Oregon,  on  the  borders  of  the  great  Pacific, 
where,  as  yet,  men  are  scarce. 

The  most  untidy,  most  uncared-for  clearing  along  this 
road  was  one  in  the  wildest  and  most  solitary  part  of  it, 
high  up  among  the  slopes  of  the  hills.  It  seemed  as  if 
the  settler  had  begun  with  immense  energy,  stubbing  up 
brushwood,  sowing  timothy-grass,  hewing  the  fir  trunks, 
and  laying  down  log-fences,  as  if  he  intended  to  live  a 
thousand  years  there,  but  had  then  lost  heart,  and  so 
suffered  the  weeds  to  grow,  stubbed  up  no  more  brush- 
wood, and  left  his  fences  unfinished. 

The  house  belonging  to  the  farm  was  nothing  but  a 
little  log  cabin,  gray-colored  and  weather-beaten,  with  two 
windows  and  a door  in  the  middle  opening  to  a narrow 
stoop  or  veranda.  A little  beyond  the  hut  there  ran 
babbling  and  sparkling  in  the  sun  (where  it  was  not  over- 
hung with  alder,  wild-cherry,  and  syringa),  quite  the  most 
beautiful  little  brook  in  the  world.  At  the  back  of  the 
house  rose  steeply  a great  hill,  covered  with  oak,  maple, 
hemlock,  and  fir;  where  the  trees  had  been  cut  down,  but 
the  ground  not  further  cleared,  there  grew  every  kind  of 
underwood,  bush,  brier,  and  climbing-plant;  the  wild 
cucumber  trailing  its  long  shoots;  blackberries  as  big  as 
English  mulberries;  huckleberries;  thimbleberries;  yellow 
salmon  berries;  and  sweet  sal-lal;  for  this  is  the  country 
where  the  King  of  Berry-land  holds  his  court. 

Under  the  trees,  and  wherever  there  is  a glade  or  open- 
ing, there  are  huge  ferns:  it  is  a land  of  greenery  and  sun- 
shine; a land  where  everywhere  trickling  streams  make 
carpets  of  spongy  moss,  and  the  air  is  soft  like  unto  the 
air  of  England.  On  the  right  hand,  looking  east,  are  the 
great  mountains,  and  on  the  left,  if  you  can  see  it,  the 
broad  Pacific. 

High  up  among  the  hills  at  this  time  of  year,  which  is 
autumn  (or  else  the  berries  would  not  be  ripe),  the  farmers 
and  their  families  camp  out — the  girls  sleeping  in  tents 
and  the  boys  in  the  open;  they  shoot,  fish,  gather  berries, 
and  make  jam — buckets  of  jam,  casks  of  jam,  hogsheads 
of  jam — breathe  as  sweet  and  pure  an  air  as  there  is  any- 
where in  the  world  (except,  of  course,  Dartmoor,  Hexham 
Common,  and  the  top  of  Malvern  Hill),  and  presently  go 
home  again,  ready  for  the  winter’s  dances,  flirtations  and 
sledging  and  skating  and  fun.  Also  on  the  slopes  of  those 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


5 


mountains  live  herdsmen,  mostly  eremites  or  solitaries,  who 
doubtless  meditate  on  things  holy  and  spiritual  among  their 
cattle;  and,  just  as  the  holy  men  of  old  were  continually 
troubled  by  devils  permitted  to  assume  the  forms  of  men 
or  women — especially  ihe  latter — so  these  herdsmen  are 
hindered  in  their  spiritual  musings  by  bears,  gray  wolves, 
and  coyotes.  And  they  do  not  go  away  in  the  winter  like 
the  campers-out,  but  abide  upon  the  hills  and  endure  hard- 
ness and  frost,  snow  and  hail,  rain  and  wind,  in  their  sea- 
son. 

The  clearing  and  cabin  of  which  I speak  stood  quite 
alone,  and  at  least  ten  miles  from  any  other  farm.  In 
Europe  a man  would  be  afraid  to  live  in  so  solitary  a fash- 
ion; in  Oregon,  loneliness  is  not  so  much  felt,  because 
there  is  nothing  to  be  afraid  of.  Very  few  of  these  hermits 
in  log  huts  have  got  anything  to  lose,  and  if  they  had  there 
would  be  no  one  to  rob  them.  Wayfarers  by  day  are  few 
and  far  between;  wayfarers  by  night  exist  not;  while  as  for 
ghosts,  phantoms,  wraiths,  dames  blanches,  and  specters, 
they  belong  to  old  settled  places,  and  have  not  yet  had 
time  to  get  further  west  than  New  England;  and  have  their 
origin  in  what  we  fondly  call  the  Komance  of  History, 
meaning  the  murders,  robberies,  piracies,  cruelties,  tort- 
ures, abductions,  fratricides,  revenges,  wraths,  and  vio- 
lences of  which,  in  a new  country,  there  have  been  as  yet 
comparatively  few.  In  the  matter  of  ghosts,  the  county 
of  Northumberland,  little  though  it  be,  would,  I am  con- 
vinced, prove  a match  for  the  whole  of  the  United  States 
taken  together  (with  Canada  thrown  in),  excepting  only 
Alaska,  which  is  a grisly  and  a creepy  country,  and  haunted 
by  troops  of  devils,  in  honor  of  whom  the  belles  of  Alaska 
blacken  their  faces — a thing  done  in  no  other  country,  and 
a compliment  which  must  be  received  as  at  once  delicate 
and  unexpected. 

It  was  a warm  afternoon  in  late  September;  there  was  a 
feeling  in  the  air  as  if,  after  four  months — nay,  six — of 
splendid  sunshine,  one  ought  to  be  satisfied  and  contented. 
Even  of  warmth  and  clear  skies,  there  cometh  satiety  in 
the  end,  and  certain  hymns  which  speak  hopefully  con- 
cerning everlasting  sunshine  were  written  by  poets  imper- 
fectly acquainted  with  human  wants,  and  ignorant  of  the 
tropics.  I believe  an  expurgated  edition  of  the  hymn- 
book  has  been  prepared,  in  which  a Paradise  with  occa- 


6 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUKE. 


sional  clouds  is  dwelt  upon,  for  the  use  of  our  equatorial 
brethren.  Nature,  in  fact,  was  saying  as  plainly  as  she 
could  speak:  “ I could  now,  thank  you,  enjoy  a little  cool- 
ness, with  clouds  and  rain,  in  order  to  turn  my  green 
leaves  into  red,  and  crimson  and  gold,  for  the  delight  of 
humans.  After  that  I will  trouble  you  for  the  cus- 
tomary frost  and  snow;  but  all  in  moderation.”  Every- 
body who  can  hear  the  voice  of  Nature  should  immediately 
make  haste  to  be  in  harmony  with  her.  Then  they  will  be 
strong  and  sturdy  in  the  winter;  hopeful  in  the  spring, 
and  brimming  over  with  love  for  everybody,  especially  for 
those  who  are  still  young  and  beautiful;  in  the  summer, 
they  will  be  meditative,  drowsy,  and  slumberous;  and  in 
the  autumn,  whether  or  no  a man  wears  that  blue  ribbon 
about  which  they  make  nowadays  such  a coil,  he  should 
feel  the  vinous  mystery  of  the  season,  and  grow  drunk,  if 
only  in  imagination,  upon  the  fruits  and  harvest  of  the 
year. 

There  were  two  men  outside  that  log-hut  on  the  shady 
side,  which  was  the  front;  between  them  was  a table 
(home-made),  on  which  were  cards,  tobacco,  a pannikin, 
and  a whisky-bottle.  One  had  a chair;  the  other  sat  on 
an  empty  keg  turned  bottom  upward.  The  man  on  the 
keg  was  the  squire  or  owner  of  the  clearing,  and  lived 
alone  in  the  hut.  A man  of  five-and-forty,  or  perhaps 
fifty,  about  the  middle  height,  and  spare;  he  wore  a long 
beard,  and  his  hair  was  long.  Both  beard  and  hair  were 
brown,  touched  with  gray;  he  had  regular  features,  which 
had  been  once,  probably,  handsome,  but  weak;  and  blue 
eyes,  which  wandered  as  he  spoke,  and  were  unsteady. 
His  fingers  were  long  and  delicate;  and  somehow  at  the 
very  first  sight  of  him,  one  thought  that  here  was  a poor, 
weak  creature,  whose  opinions  mattered  nothing,  and 
who  was  perfectly  certain  never  to  get  on  in  the  world. 
He  had  a pipe  in  his  mouth,  and  continually  he  turned 
upon  the  whisky-bottle  eyes  of  affection. 

On  the  other  side  of  the  table  sat  his  companion,  a man 
of  much  the  same  height  and  figure,  with  eyes  the  same 
color,  only  of  a darker  blue,  steadier,  not  to  say  keener, 
in  their  look;  his  hair  and  beard  were  quite  gray;  his 
hands  were  strong  and  square;  at  sight  of  him  the  inexperi- 
enced, thinking  of  certain  stories  would  have  said  that  here 
was  a strong,  brave  man,  one  of  Nature’s  noblemen,  turned 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


7 


out  ready-made,  uneducated  and  ignorant,  never,  maybe, 
having  read  a single  book;  rude  and  rough  of  speech, 
coarse  of  manners;  yet  chivalrous  as  a true  Castilian, 
honorable  as  an  English  gentleman,  and  as  fuM  of  noble 
sentiments  and  lofty  aspirations  as  the  most  cultivated 
Dean. 

We  know  very  well,  and  feel  ashamed  of  it,  that  such  a 
man  cannot  be  found  in  this  country  of  ours.  He  does 
not  grow  in  the  same  soil  as  an  enslaving  aristocracy, 
whether  of  birth,  education,  genius,  or  knowledge.  This 
man,  then,  would  have  appeared  at  first  sight,  and  toper- 
sons  of  limited  experience  and  unlimited  imagination,  a 
true  nobleman  of  Nature’s  making.  But  there  were  about 
him  certain  outward  signs  and  tokens,  which  spoke  vol- 
umes to  such  as  had  wisdom,  and  could  interpret  small 
facts  of  evidence,  and  were  not  too  eager  to  believe  in  the 
perfection  of  the  human  race.  For  instance,  among 
other  signs,  his  hands  were  white,  which,  in  such  a coun- 
try, bodes  ill;  his  eye  was  restless,  his  clothes  were  good; 
therefore,  whenever  wise  (and  therefore  suspicious)  per- 
sons met  this  man,  or  any  like  unto  him,  they  would  edge 
away  from  him,  avoid  him,  and  whisper  to  each  other 
such  words  as  “sportsman,”  “gang,”  “sharper,” 
“cheat  and  rogue,”  or  their  equivalents,  whether  in 
Bostonian,  Virginian,  Kentuckian,  Californian,  or  Ore- 
gonese;  pleasant  languages,  every  one,  full  of  local  color- 
ing, and  all  remarkably  like  modern  English. 

This  man  had  a cigar  in  his  mouth,  and  sat  on  a chair 
— the  only  chair — tilted  up  against  the  door-posts.  His 
feet  were  on  the  table;  it  is  a graceful,  easy,  convenient, 
well-bred  attitude,  and  was  based  by  the  original  inventor 
on  consideration  for  the  comfort  of  others. 

“ Go  on,  Johnny,”  he  said  encouragingly.  Note,  that 
when  one  man  calls  another,  without  first  asking  his 
Christian-name,  Johnny,  this  single  fact  saves  the  his- 
torian whole  pages  of  character-drawing.  Many  a novel 
of  “analysis  of  character”  would  vanish  altogether  if 
the  hero  were  at  the  outset  simply  named  Johnny.  But 
then  that  novel  would  never  get  written.  Pity;  but  then, 
again,  perhaps  no  one  ever  wanted  it  to  be  written.  And, 
again,  when  one  man,  not  knowing  another  man’s  Chris- 
tian or  surname,  addresses  that  man,  from  the  outset,  as 
Colonel,  that  also  is  a fact  which  speaks  volumes. 


8 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“J  was  talking,  Colonel/’  replied  the  other,  “ about 
the  old  days,  and  my  wife  and  the  little  one,  wasn’t  I?” 
he  asked  with  some  doubt,  as  if  he  might  have  been  talk- 
ing state  politics,  and  had,  perhaps,  forgotten  the  thread 
of  his  argument. 

“ You  never  talk  about  anything  else,  Johnny,”  said 
the  man  in  the  chair. 

“ Why,  no,  Colonel — p’raps  not.  You  see,  mate,  when 
you’ve  been  four  years  and  more  mostly  alone,  and  a 
stranger  comes  along  and  stays  a week,  you  naturally  talk 
about  what’s  in  your  mind;  don’t  you  now?  I don’t 
know  who  you  are.  Colonel,  nor  where  you  come  from, 
but  you’re  good  company,  and  I thank  you  for  staying. 
Make  it  another  week.” 

“ Go  on,  Johnny!  Don’t  get  drunk  till  the  evening,  or 
I shall  have  no  one  to  play  poker  with.”  For  Johnny’s 
hand  was  wandering  feebly  and  tentatively  in  the  direc- 
tion of  the  bottle. 

“ The  little  maid  must  be  growing  a tall  girl  now,” 
Johnny  went  on.  “It  is  nigh  twenty  years  since  I saw 
her  last,  and  then  she  was  only  a babe  of  four  months. 
Quite  a tall  girl  she  must  be  growing— -almost  a woman 
now.” 

“Almost,  indeed!” 

“A  surprising  baby  she  was,  with  a beautiful  voice 
already.  I was  sorry  to  come  away  for  her  sake,  I re- 
member.” 

“ What  did  you  do,  Johnny?”  The  Colonel  asked  this 
question  without  the  least  hesitation  or  apology,  though  it 
is  a most  improper  and  embarrassing  question  to  put  any- 
where in  America  or  Australia  to  a gentleman  of  European 
birth  and  slender  luck.  “ What  did  you  do,  Johnny?” 

“ Nothing,”  replied  the  other  man. 

“Nothing?  Not  any  little  difficulty  with  accounts  or 
trust-money — eh?” 

“No,”  he  said,  not  at  all  offended  by  an  insinuation 
which  would  have  made  some  sensitive  brothers  wince  and 
kick.  “No;  I was  always  for  straight  ways.” 

“ Drink,  I suppose?” 

“Notin  those  days,  Colonel.  I’ve  only  been  used  to 
drink  since  I came  to  the  Land  o’  Freedom.” 

“ What  did  you  come  over  for,  then?” 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  9 

“Well,  it’s  a strange  story.  Some  wouldn’t  believe  it. 
You  see,  I had  a wife.” 

“ So  you’ve  told  me  before.” 

“ Yes,  I was  married.  Why  I got  married  the  Lord 
knows;  but  I did*  And  I had  a berth  in  a good  House  at 
three  quid  a-week — more  than  ever  I’ve  had  since.  We 
lived  at  Hackney  Wick  then.  Quite  a nice  house  we  had, 
with  two  sittin’-rooms  and  three  bedrooms,  furnished  and 
genteel;  and  for  a bit  my  Matilda — that  was  her  name 
— was  as  contented  a woman  as  you’d  come  across,  in  spite 
of  my  ridiculous  Christian-name.” 

“What  was  your  Christian-name?” 

“ Never  mind.  Colonel.  That  hasn’t  come  across  the 
Atlantic,  at  any  rate.  It  was  a beast  of  a name.  The 
boys  at  school  made  nicknames  out  of  it;  they  called  me 
the  Lord  Mayor  and  his  lordship  and — never  mind.  The 
clerks  in  the  House  found  it  out,  and  made  my  life  mis- 
erable about  it.  A man  ought  to  be  able  to  bring  an 
action  against  his  godfathers  and  godmothers  for  libel;  but 
I suppose  the  lawyers  would  get  all  the  money,  because  it 
would  have  to  be  done  under  age.  Don’t  you  worry  about 
my  Christian-name,  because  you  won’t  learn  it.  My 
Christian-name!  When  I came  away,  it  was  a comfort  to 
think  that  I’d  left  that  behind.  The  boys  have  had  their 
fun  out  of  me  over  here,  you  bet,  because  I won’t  shoot 
nor  fight;  but  they  never  found  that  out.  No,  no!” 

“ Well,  go  on;  one  may  just  as  well  listen  to  your  story 
as  go  to  sleep*  Go  on,  Johnny.” 

“ We  got  on  very  well  for  a spell — about  a year  and  a 
half  it  was — Matilda  happy  and  contented,  and  feeling 
quite  the  lady.  We  had  two  seats  in  a pew  at  church, 
and  the  clergyman  had  called  more  than  once.  And  then 
a dreadful  misfortune  happened,  though  we  thought  it  was 
grandeur.  For  Matilda’s  younger  sister,  P’leena,  did  a 
great  deal  better  than  herself,  and  married  into  carriage 
company  and  the  wholesale  line,  at  Hornsey.  After  that, 
nothing  went  well,  and  every  time  her  sister  P’leena  drove 
over  to  call  on  Matilda — which  was  oftener  than  was 
necessary  between  married  sisters,  and  meant  display — in 
her  own  carriage,  Matilda  turned  yellow,  and  had  to  go  to 
bed.  Then  nothing  would  do  but  I must  have  ambition. 
I must  rise — I must  soar;  she  threw  in  my  teeth,  as  if  it 
were  a disgrace,  that  I was  only  a clerk.  Why  not  a clerk? 


10 


A GLOKlOtJS  VO JlTUffE. 


My  father  was  a clerk;  so  was  hers;  so  were  her  cousins, 
and  her  brothers,  and  her  friends;  so  were  all  mine.  She 
ought  to  have  thought  of  it  before  she  married  me.  I 
didn’t  want  to  soar.  I wanted  my  pipe  of  an  evening, 
and  be  left  alone;  soaring  would  have  made  me  uncom- 
fortable. The  nagging,  especially  the  day  after  P’leena 
had  called,  was  more  than  I could  bear.  So  I came  away, 
and  I think  I’ve  made  my  Fortune  and  done  pretty  weil, 
at  last.”  His  eye  ran  slowly  round  his  weedy  fields,  and 
unfinished  fences,  and  at  last  rested  lovingly  upon  the 
whisky-bottle.  “ Pretty  well — though  I had  a good  spell 
of  waiting.” 

“You  call  this  pretty  well,  do  you?  Then,  Johnny, 
you  are  easily  pleased.” 

“This  is  a sweet  spot,  Colonel,  for  a man  to  rest  in; 
there’s  a pig  or  two  in  the  sty,  there’s  a barrel  of  pork  in 
the  house;  there’s  plenty  of  game  and  birds  on  the  hills; 
there’s  oats  and  grass  to  be  traded  for  whisky  and  things. 
As  for  the  wife,  she’s  gone,  and  the  little  maid  don’t  feel 
she  wanted  me,  and  I’d  be  ungrateful  to  up  and  cut  sticks 
and  leave  this  place.  Besides,  it  fell  into  my  hands 
providential — quite  providential,  which  a man  should 
think  upon.” 

“ How  did  it  fall  into  your  hands?” 

“This  way  it  was.  I was  going  along,  four  years  ago, 
alone  and  down  on  my  luck,  as,  in  those  days,  I generally 
was.  Suddenly,  at  the  turn  of  the  road,  I came  upon  this 
very  clearin’,  and  on  this  same  identical  house.  The  door 
was  open  and  I walked  in.  No  one  in  the  house,  but  a 
whisky-bottle  on  the  table,  so  that  I took  a drink.  Then 
I went  out  and  looked  around.  Presently,  I saw  lyin’ 
under  a tree,  a dead  man.  He  was  quite  dead;  but  he 
hadn’t  been  dead  very  long,  and  must  ha’  dropped  bein’ 
neither  knifed  nor  shot.  First,  I buried  him  under  that 
tree  there;  yes,  that’s  his  grave;  then  I stayed  here;  then 
I came  to  feel  as  if  I’d  inherited  the  shanty  and  the  clear- 
in’, the  pigs  and  the  oats.  If  there  had  been  any  monejq” 
he  added  slowly,  “I  should  have  inherited  that  as  well; 
but  there  was  not  any.  No,  there  was  no  money,  Col- 
onel.” 

“ Did  anybody  ever  accuse  you  of  murdering  that  man, 
Johnny?” 

“Nobody.” 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUHE. 


11 


“ Lucky  for  you.”  The  Colonel  yawned.  “ And  now 
I suppose  you  mean  to  stay  till  you  send  in  your  checks?” 
“ I think  that  is  so/’  he  replied,  looking  about  him  con- 
tentedly. The  sun  was  sloping  westward  now,  and  the 
hills  and  forests  were  lying  in  a splendid  golden  bath. 
“Why  should  I move  on?  What  could  I get  anywhere 
better  than  this?  I am  boss.  I’ve  never  been  boss  before. 
I get  up  when  I like,  I work  no  harder  than  I like.  Be- 
fore, I had  to  work  as  it  pleased  other  people;  here  I 
work  for  myself:  all  the  wages  are  my  own.  As  for  com- 
pany, I don’t  want  any  but  my  own,  seeing  that  most  of 
the  company  in  this  country  is  fighting  and  quarreling, 
and  screechin’  mad  with  drink.” 

“ Don’t  you  want  to  see  your  wife  and  daughter,  then?” 
“ As  for  my  wife  I shall  see  her  quite  soon  enough, 
because,  I tell  you,  she’s  dead;  therefore  there’s  no  harry 
respecting  her.  As  for  my  little  maid,  I should  like— yes, 
I really  should  like  to  set  eyes  on  that  child  again.”  He 
made  a determined  effort,  grasped  the  whiskv-bottle,  and 
resolutely  filled  half  the  pannikin,  which  he  drank  off. 
“A  beautiful  voice  she  had.”  His  eyes  grew  softer  and 
weaker,  and  he  rambled  in  his  talk,  and  began  feebly  to 
repeat  himself.  “Her  mother  wanted  to  be  proud  of  her 
husband,  but  couldn’t,  she  said,  because  he  was  nothing 
but  an  insignificant  clerk,  and  contented  with  that  and 
his  low  friends.  So  how  could  she?  Lord!  I was  always 
the  most  contented  of  men.  Give  me  my  pipe,  I say,  and 
my  drop  of  beer  in  the  evening,  with  a talk  and  a friend 
of  two;  what  more  does  any  man  want?  And  pay?  Why, 
they  would  have  advanced  me  to  five  pounds  a week  in 
time;  more  than  ever  I’ve  had  since  she  nagged  me  into 
running  away.” 

“ Then  you  did  pluck  up  spirit  to  run  away?” 

“ I did.  One  evening,  when  she’d  been  going  on  worse 
than  usual,  I put  on  my  hat  and  coat,  and  wrapped  up 
my  throat  with  a comforter  on  account  of  the  east  wind, 
and  I said,  ‘Very  well,  Matilda,  I’m  off.’  That’s  all  I 
said.  ‘I’m  off,  Matilda.’  All  she  said  was  ‘Good-by,’ 
and  my  Christian-name,  which  she  never  used  but  for 
purposes  of  nagging.” 

“ So  you  came  away,  and  left  your  wife  on  the  parish?” 
“ No,  Colonel,  I didn’t  ” — he  said  this  without  the  least 
indignation  at  this  charge — “ no.  Matilda  had  her  own 


12 


k GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


money,  left  to* her  and  invested  in  houses.  Now  she’s 
dead,  the  little  maid  has  it,  no  doubt.  A hundred  and 
twenty  pounds  a year  the  money  was.  Perhaps  it  is  more 
by  this  time.” 

“ Was  it  settled  upon  her?” 

“ Why?”  He  took  another  drink  out  of  the  pannikin. 
“ Don’t  I tell  you  it  was  her  money?” 

“ What  is  the  wife’s  is  the  husband’s.” 

“ You  wouldn’t  say  that,  Colonel,  if  you’d  known  Ma- 
tilda. You  wouldn’t,  indeed.” 

“ Well,  you  ran  away?” 

“Yes,  I ran  away.”  He  laughed  gently.  “I  thought 
I would  surprise  Matilda,  s.o  I took  my  passage  that  same 
day  for  New  York.  When  I got  there  I wrote  to  Matilda. 
I said  she’d  be  glad  to  find  her  husband  was  a man  of 
spirit;  that  I was  bound  to  make  my  Fortune  before  I 
came  home  again;  and  I told  her  where  a letter  would  find 
me.  She  replied  that  she  should  think  the  better  of  me 
for  the  future,  and  as  regards  the  Fortune  I was  to  send  it 
home  bit  by  bit,  as  I made  it,  because  she  didn’t  believe, 
if  I knew  how  to  make  it,  that  I had  the  pluck  to  keep  it. 

“I  don’t  think,”  he  went  on  after  a pause,  “that  any 
man’s  Fortune  was  so  slow  of  coming  as  mine.  I tried  it 
clerking  in  a store,  I tried  it  as  a book-agent,  and  a bogus 
auctioneer’s  help,  and  a traveler  in  clocks  and  reaping- 
machines,  and  a conjuror’s  confederate,  and  an  actor,  and 
a schoolmaster,  and  Lord  knows  what.  Except  a preacher, 
I think  I’ve  been  most  everything.  Just  before  the  Fort- 
une came — I mean  this  little  clearin’,  and  the  house — [ 
had  the  hardest  job  of  all,  for  I hitched  on  to  a plow- 
gang.” 

“ Yes,  I suppose  you  must  have  always  have  been  a 
pretty  useless  galoot.  There’s  lots  like  you  Johnny.” 

“ Matilda,”  Johnny  went  on,  heedless  of  these  con- 
temptuous words,  “didn’t  quite  know  all  that  happened. 
No,  sir,  the  letters  I sent  home  would  have  done  credit 
to  Mr.  Vanderbilt;  for  I told  her  that  the  dollars  were 
running  in  so  thick  ’twas  impossible  to  count  them, 
but  I couldn’t  send  them  home  because  they  had  all  to  be 
invested  again.  She  wasn’t  so  grateful  for  the  news  as 
she  might  have  been;  wanting  all  the  time  to  take  a better 
position,  as  she  said,  and  if  I was  making  all  this  money, 
why  was  she  starving  on  a hundred  and  twenty  pounds  a 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


13 


year?  Well,  poor  thing,  perhaps  she  would  have  found 
out  the  truth,  because  she  was  threatening  to  come  out 
after  the  dollars,  but  she  was  taken  ill  and  died — all  pure 
Vexation  because  I wouldn’t  send  any  of  it  home.  After 
that  the  little  maid  wrote  instead,  and  1 kept  on,  just  to 
please  her,  pilin’  it  up  about  my  Glorious  Fortune.  But, 
somehow,  what  with  this  unexpected  Fortune  and  the 
whisky.  I’ve  forgotten  to  change  the  post-town  and  the 
State,  and  I guess  she  must  have  left  off  writing.” 

“So,”  said  the  other  man,  “you’ve  got  a daughter  at 
home,  and  you’ve  done  nothing  to  prevent  your  showing 
your  face  again,  and  there’s  money  waiting  for  you,  and 
yet  you  stay  here  in  this  cursed  lonely  place  without  a 
friend” — Johnny  embraced  the  whisky-bottle — “or  a 
man  to  speak  to.” 

“You’ve  been  with  me  for  a week.  Colonel,”  said 
Johnny. 

“And  no  money ” 

“Enough  to  buy  whisky  and  notions,”  he  inter- 
rupted. 

“And  nothing  to  expect.” 

“ I expect,”  said  Johnny,  “ to  go  on  living  here  for  a 
thousand  years.  What  do  I want  with  change?  I’ve  been 
driven  around  long  enough.  Land  o’  Freedom,  is  it?  I’ve 
never  come  across  any  freedom.  What’s  it  like,  your 
freedom?  Show  me  a bit  of  it?  All  I’ve  seen  in  this 
country  is  a boss  at  one  end  of  a bit  of  work  and  a beef- 
steak at  the  other.  As  for  you.  Colonel,  you’ve  had  a 
bully  fine  time,  I guess.  Euchre?” 

The  other  nodded. 

“Monte?” 

He  nodded  again. 

“ Poker?  I thought  so,  and  a difficulty  now  and  then? 
Quite  so.  I thought  once  of  going  into  the  sporting  line 
myself,  but  I concluded  ’twas  unwholesome  for  delicate 
constitutions.  I dare  say,  Colonel,  you’ve  shot  your  man 
before  now?  Yes,  I thought  so.  You  look  like  it. 
P’raps  you  wouldn’t  believe  it,  but  I’ve  never  even  carried 
a revolver,  and  never  had  a fight.  Born  in  England, 
Colonel?  Said  so,  moment  I set  eyes  on  you.  In  London, 
most  likely.  They  all  come  from  London.  Some  trouble, 
no  doubt?  Jes’  so.  As  is  most  often  the  case,  and  no 
need  to  ask  further.  For  there’s  more  deserves  the  trouble 


14 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


than  gets  it,  and  if  the  jury  was  to  change  place  with  the 
prisoner,  very  often  more  justice  would  be  done.” 

Johnny  went  on  rambling  in  this  discursive  way, 
with  an  occasional  sip  at  the  pannikin,  his  guest  paying 
little  heed. 

Presently  he  got  up,  and  said  rather  thickly  that 
it  was  close  on  sunset,  and  he  must  go  and  fix  up  the 
supper. 

Two  or  three  hours  later  the  two  men  were  within  the 
hut,  sitting  with  the  table  between  them.  On  the  table 
were  a petroleum  lamp,  the  whisky-bottle,  and  a pack  of 
cards.  But  unhappily  Johnny  had  over-estimated  his 
strength  of  head,  which  now  lay  on  the  table  among  the 
cards.  In  other  words  he  was  drunk. 

The  Colonel,  who  seemed  sober,  sat  perfectly  still. 
Presently  he  rose  and  softly  went  into  the  open-air.  It 
was  a cloudless  night,  there  was  a perfect  stillness  in  the 
air,  but  the  Colonel  looked  round  him  with  restless  and 
uneasy  eyes. 

“ What  is  it?”  he  murmured.  “ I havn’t  felt  like  this 
for  fifteen  years  or  more.  Why,  I see  and  feel  London 
again.  I am  to  give  one  of  them  a dinner  at  the  Cafe 
Royale.  We  are  going  to  the  theater  afterward.  It  is 
all  just  as  it  used  to  be  before  the  smash.  By  this  time 
I suppose  they  have  got  old,  and  there’s  r new  lot,  but 
they  are  exactly  like  their  predecessors,  and  the  old  games 
go  on  just  the  same.” 

“ Oh!”  he  heaved  a long,  deep  sigh.  “ But  it  is  with- 
out me.  I am  out  of  it — for  ever.” 

He  sighed  again,  and  began  to  walk  backward  and  for- 
ward, swinging  his  arms  and  cracking  his  fingers.  He 
was  living  over  again  the  old  life.  The  rambling  talk  of 
his  companion  had  touched  some  chord  which  awakened 
old  memories,  and  these  for  the  time  maddened  him.  He 
was  at  Newmarket,  at  Doncaster,  at  Epsom;  he  was  sing- 
ing and  drinking  after  a great  supper;  he  was  gambling 
at  a baccarat-table;  he  was  riding  a steeplechase;  he  was 
acting  with  a troup  of  amateurs;  he  was  dancing;  he  was 
love-making. 

“ If  I had  rnonev,”  lie  said,  Ci  1 could  go  back  to  all  of 
it.  As  for  the  old  set,  I suppose  they  are  alive.  They 
would  welcome  any  one  back  again  who  had  money  to  go 
the  pace.  Even  if  I had  no  money,”  he  went  on,  “I 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  15 

might  go  home  and  pretend  I had.  Lots  of  men  get  on 
1 without  money.  Why  not?” 

, For  two  hours  and  more  he  remained  outside,  while, 
within  the  hut,  the  drunken  man  still  lay  asleep,  breath- 
ing heavily,  his  head  upon  the  table. 

Presently  a chill  breeze  sprang  up  from  the  sea,  and  the 
dreamer  returned  to  the  hut  shivering. 

“Ugh!”  he  groaned,  looking  round  the  bare  planks 
and  comfortless  room,  his  head  full  of  memories  of  Club-, 
land.  i 

The  lamp  was  burning  low — he  trimmed  it.  Then  he! 
took  a drink  from  the  whiskv-pannikin,  then  he  sat  down1 
again  with  the  cards  and  began  to  shuffle,  deal,  cut,  com- 
bine, arrange,  and  sort  the  cards  with  deft  fingers,  all  the 
time  looking  an  imaginary  partner  in  the  face,  so  that 
when  the  game  should  be  finished,  the  stakes  would  be 
handed  over  to  himself  without  a suspicion  or  any  dimi- 
nution of  confidence.  He  alone  is  the  perfect  sportsman 
who  can  always  land  the  money  and  never  be  suspected. 
But  there  are,  alas!  few  of  these. 

Presently  he  got  tired  of  his  game  of  dummy  pigeon, 
and  began  to  think  that  he  was  tired,  and  might  as  well 
turn  in.  Now  his  host,  in  offering  him  hospitality  dur- 
ing the  last  week,  had  naturally  reserved  for  himself  his 
own  bed,  giving  his  guest  a shake-down  of  skins  and 
blankets,  and  it  occurred  to  the  Colonel  that,  Johnny 
being  so  very  drunk,  he  himself  might  just  as  well  take 
the  bed,  which  would  be  easier  than  the  shake-down  on 
the  floor.  A drunken  man  does  not  mind  a hard  bed. 

The  bed-place  was  a kind  of  bunk,  in  which  blankets 
were  spread  on  straw.  The  Colonel  began  to  beat  up  the 
straw  and  arrange  *the  blankets.  Now  while  he  was 
thoughtfully  preparing  a pillow,  a very  strange  thing  hap- 
pened. At  the  head  of  the  bed  he  found  a small  -recess, 
contrived,  no  doubt,  by  the  builder  of  the  house,  for  a 
safe  receptacle  of  valuable  things.  It  was,  in  fact,  a secret 
cupboard;  no  one  would  suspect  such  a thing  in  a log-hut, 
and,  leas^t  of  all,  at  the  head  of  the  bed-place.  Secret 
cupboards  belong  to  old  manor-houses,  granges,  baronial 
halls,  and  castles,  not  to  wooden  cabins  in  Western  States; 
yet  here  was  such  a hiding-place.  The  Colonel,  with  con- 
siderable curiosity,  pulled  out  the  contents  and  brought 
them  to  the  table.  First,  there  were  three  or  four  little 


16 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


bundles  of  letters,  tied  up  with  string;  they  were  frayed 
at  the  edges  and  soiled,  because  they  had  been  a good  deal 
carried  about  in  the  pocket.  The  drunken  man  still  lay 
motionless  and  sleeping  heavily.  The  Colonel  untied  the 
string  and  turned  over  the  letters.  Some  were  signed 
“ Your  affectionate  wife.”  He  read  two  or  three  of  them, 
and  smiled.  Johnny  therefore  hlad  told  the  truth;  he  had 
really  run  away  from  a nagging  wife.  He  deceived  her  as 
to  his  success  in  the  New  World;  she  nagged  him  still  by 
letter.  The  others,  of  which  there  were  a great  many, 
were  written,  first  in  a school-girl's  unformed  hand,  but 
afterward  in  a firm  round  writing,  clear  and  strong. 
They  began  “ My  dear  father,”  and  ended  “Your  affec- 
tionate daughter,  Milly  Montoro.” 

“ So,”  said  the  Colonel,  “ I thought  the  man  was  lying. 
He’s  a poor  helpless  creature.  Can’t  even  lie.  His  name 
is  Montoro.  How  the  devil  do  these  clerks  and  beggars 
get  such  names?  And.  his  daughter’s  name  is  Milly. 
What  is  Milly?  Emily?  Matilda?  What’s  in  this  bundle? 
More  letters,  I suppose.” 

The  last  bundle  was  tied  up  with  the  greatest  care,  and 
wrapped  in  an  oilskin  cloth.  The  Colonel  opened  it,  and 
changed  color,  turning  suddenly  quite  white;  for  the  bun- 
dle was  nothing  else  than  a packet  of  English  bank-notes 
— ten-pound  notes,  eighty  of  them — eight  hundred 
pounds!  He  counted  them  three  times  over.  Eight  hun- 
dred pounds! 

As  he  counted  them  and  gazed  upon  them,  his  eyes 
flashed  and  his  lips  trembled.  Then  he  thought  they 
might  be  forged  notes.  What  on  earth  could  a man  want 
with  good  English  notes  in  a log-cabin?  He  held  them 
up  to  the  light  and  examined  their  edges  and  looked  at 
the  numbers.  No;  they  were  good  notes. 

Then  he  remembered  how  the  man  he  called  Johnny — 
the  Montoro  man — had  alluded  to  money.  “If  there 
had  been  any,”  he  said,  “ I should  have  inherited  that  as 
well.”  He  could  lie,  then,  after  all,  this  mean  creature, 
and  he  had  lied. 

Eight  hundred  pounds  in  notes!  And  still  the  drunken 
man  lay,  head  on  the  table,  snoring  heavily. 

Eight  hundred  pounds!  What  could  not  be  done  with 
eight  hundred  pounds? 

You  may  invest  it  in  the  Three  perCents.  and  gettwen- 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


17 


ty-four  pounds  a year  for  it,  which  is  not  much  more  than 
a soldier’s  pension  of  a shilling  a day;  you  may  buy  the 
stock  and  good-will  of  a genteel  shop,  such  as  a tobacco- 
nist’s or  a fancy-shop  with  Berlin  work;  you  may  buy  a 
lodging-house  furnished;  you  may  publish  two  or  three 
novels  with  it;  you  may  have  your  portrait  painted;  you 
may  buy  a really  beautiful  blue  vase  with  it — you  may  do 
quantities  of  useful  things  with  eight  hundred  pounds; 
but  the  Colonel  thought  not  of  these.  His  fancy  quickly 
turned  to  London  and  the  West  End. 

He  stood  there  for  half  an  hour  and  more  with  the 
notes  in  his  hand,  irresolute,  listening  to  the  voice  of  the 
Tempter. 

Now  the  Tempter  whispered  this  and  that,  but  always 
came  back  to  the  same  point,  which  was  that  with  eight 
hundred  pounds  for  capital  a man  who  knew  how  to  play 
might  do  very  well  in  London.  Why,  when  he — not  the 
Tempter,  but  the  Colonel — was  a youngster  he  lost  his 
whole  fortune  because  he  played  with  such  men  as  he 
himself  had  since  become.  Eight  hundred  pounds!  Why 
with  two  hundred  he  could  go  back  to  that  old  life  and 
begin  again.  Nobody  knew  anything  when  he  came 
away  except  that  he  was  stone  broke.  Yes,  he  would  go 
back  again.  He  was  fifty,  and  he  had  grown  quite  gray. 
That  could  be  remedied.  It  was  fifteen  years  since  he 
disappeared  from  the  West  End — and  now  he  could 
go  back  again  if  he  liked.  Heavens!  how  he  should  en- 
joy once  more  the  glad  following  of  the  rosy  hours!  Be- 
sides, as  the  honest  and  virtuous  Tempter  said,  it  was  not 
Johnny’s  money  at  all.  He  had  lied.  He  said  there  was 
no  money;  it  was  quite  certainly  the  money  of  the  dead 
man.  Serve  Johnny  right  to  punish  him  for  lying  and  to 
take  away  his  money. 

It  grew  late.  The  drunken  man  slept  on.  There  are 
never  any  clocks  in  log-huts  until  the  agent  in  clocks  has 
called.  But  I think  it  must  have  been  midnight,  when 
the  Tempter  said  his  last  word,  and  the  Colonel,  without 
listening  to  that  other  voice,  which  said  that  though  he 
had  done  a good  many  tolerably  bad  things,  he  had  never 
done  anything  half  so  bad  as  what  he  was  now  going  to 
do,  and  did  he  think  that  he  could  ever  after  it  consider 
himself  worthy  of  any  respect  or  consideration  at  all?  For 
to  swagger  and  captain  it  around,  to  cheat  and  bully  with 


18 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


those  who  cheat  and  bully — ready  at  a moment  to  fight 
for  your  life — to  be  a ruffian,  open  and  confessed,  hath  in 
it  something  of  bravery  which  commands  a little  admira- 
tion; but  to  be  a mean,  secret  thief — to  reward  hospitality 
with  robbery — this,  indeed,  is  different.  But  this  voice 
was  a small  voice,  and  the  other  was  loud  and  persuasive. 
Therefore  the  Colonel  put  on  his  hat,  turned  down  the 
lamp,  stuffed  the  bundles,  notes,  letters,  and  all,  into  his 
pocket,  and  stepped  out  stealthily  and  disappeared. 

An  hour  or  so  afterward,  Johnny  moved  uneasily, 
moaned  and  grunted  in  his  sleep,  discovered  that  the  edge 
of  the  table  was  sharp,  and  his  neck  stiff;  then  he  opened 
his  eyes,  and  lifted  his  head,  feeling  a little  cold  and 
somewhat  cramped  from  the  position  in  which  he  had  been 
lying. 

Pretty  well  awake  now,  he  slowly  rose  and  tried  to  shake 
himself  together.  Then  he  remembered  something. 

“Colonel!”  he  said,  hoarsely. 

There  was  no  reply. 

“ Colonel’s  asleep,”  he  whispered.  “Less  go  to  bed.” 

He  threw  himself  into  the  bunk  and  drew  the  blankets 
over  him,  without  the  usual  preliminary  of  undressing. 
As  soon  as  he  was  quite  comfortable,  he  addressed  him- 
self to  sleep,  but  first,  as  a matter  of  custom,  he  felt  in 
the  right-hand  corner  for  the  recess  in  which  he  kept  his 
bundles.  Very  odd,  he  could  not  find  them.  They  were 
not  there. 

In  a moment,  he  was  broad  awake,  and  perfectly  sober. 
On  his  knees  he  began  to  fumble  and  feel  everywhere  for 
his  treasures.  Then  he  sprang  out  of  bed,  crying, 
“ Colonel!  Colonel!  wake  up!”  and  groped  about  for  his 
matches.  When  he  had  found  them,  still  wondering  why 
the  Colonel  slept  so  heavily,  he  lit  the  lamp,  and  searched 
again  for  his  packets.  But  in  vain.  They  were  gone. 
Then  he  looked  for  his  guest,  and  he  was  gone  too. 

Then  he  understood  what  had  happened,  and  seizing 
his  gun  with  a loud  cry,  the  robbed  man  ran  wildly  into 
the  road,  and  rushed  along  the  track  southward.  That 
was  a great  pity,  because  the  Colonel,  who  felt  quite  safe 
and  easy  in  his  mind,  and  was  not  making  any  violent 
effort  to  cover  the  ground  quickly,  was  marching  due 
north. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


19 


CHAPTER  II. 

ON  THE  RIVER  LEA. 

The  River  Lea  is  honorably  known  among  fellows  of 
the  Royal  Geographical  Society;  schoolboys  who  go  in  for 
their  prize,  and  the  makers  of  maps,  as  forming  the  east- 
ern boundary  of  Middlesex.  It  is  not,  however,  a river 
• which  goes  into  society,  like  a certain  other  river  which 
runs  along  the  south  of  the  same  county.  This  is  to  be 
accounted  for  in  several  ways:  first,  because  society  is  a 
good  long  way  off;  next,  because  you  cannot  get  at  the 
East  of  London  except  from  Broad  Street,  which  is  not 
a society  station;  next,  on  account  of  what  may  be  called 
the  personal  character  of  the  river.  Its  mouth  is  respect- 
able, but  homely,  and  a good  deal  encumbered,  though  of 
a lordly  breadth  at  high-tide,  with  barges,  lighters,  works, 
and  wharves.  Higher  up,  it  shows  a sad  want  of  direct- 
ness and  purpose;  it  winds  about  among  the  low  meadows 
and  marshes  without  ever  making  a bold  push  among 
such  unresisting  material;  it  continually  goes  off  into 
three  or  four  channels;  for  a large  part  of  its  course  the 
prospect  on  one  bank  at  least  always  terminates  with  a 
row  of  low  cottages,  built  of  gray  brick  with  red  roofs. 
Even  the  Thames  at  Cliveden  could  not  maintain  its  dig- 
nity against  that  mean  endless  row  of  small  gray  houses 
and  red  roofs. 

Yet  the  river  is  regarded  with  passionate  fondness  by 
all  who  dwell  between  Stratford  and  Hertford.  Eor  you 
may  fish  in  it  all  the  year  round;  and  you  may  now  row 
upon  it  for  nine  months  in  the  year;  you  may  bathe  in  it 
for  three  months  in  the  year;  and  you  may  get  drowned 
in  it,  and  very  often  do,  if  you  happen  to  be  upset  and 
cannot  swim.  On  half-holidays  and  on  summer  evenings, 
there  are  as  many  boats  upon  it  as  on  the  Thames  at 
Richmond.  There  is  also  to  be  found  upon  its  banks  the 
Riverside  Jack,  a creature  whom,  at  first,  it  seems  incon- 
gruous to  meet  so  far  east.  The  ignorant  traveler  would 
as  soon  expect  a salmon  in  the  River  Lea  as  a Jack  like 
him  of  Putney,  Richmond,  Chertsey,  and  Kingston,  upon 
its  banks.  Yet  here  he  is;  using  his  favorite  language 


20 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


with  the  one  favorite  adjective  which  goes  with  everything, 
like  the  Spanish  onion,  or  curry-powder,  or  Spyer’s  Uni- 
versal Sauce;  patriotically  drinking  the  national  bever- 
age; loafing  about  among  the  boats;  always  pretending  to 
be  extremely  busy,  yet  never  doing  anything,  and  still  a 
waiter — “he  also  serves,  who  only  stands  and  waits  ” — 
upon  Providence  for  the  casual  tip;  his  expectations  be- 
ing pitched  lower  than  those  of  his  Richmond  cousins. 
The  Lea  River  Jack  has  a cottage  upon  the  bank,  green 
with  damp  in  the  winter  and  picturesque  with  dirt  in  the 
summer;  behind  the  cottage  is  a garden  in  which  he 
grows  the  most  gigantic  Jerusalem  artichokes — perhaps 
that  vegetable,  in  some  subtle,  unknown  way,  appeals  to 
a poetic  side,  hitherto  unsuspected,  in  his  nature:  here 
and  there  he  has  a ferry-boat,  in  which  he  will  take  you 
across  for  a penny.  Whether  business  is  brisk  or  slack, 
he  always  has  a rod  or  two  in  the  water,  and  as  he  goes 
about  his  chores,  he  still  keeps  one  eye  upon  the  float, 
ready  at  a moment’s  notice  to  strike  the  silver  roach. 

If  you  were  to  ascend  the  river  from  the  mouth,  where 
it  is  called  Bow  Creek,  beside  the  East  India  Dock,  you 
would  pass,  on  your  left,  wharves,  gasworks,  and  man- 
kind, all  the  way  by  Bromley,  Bow,  and  Stratford,  till 
you  came  to  Clapton;  and  all  the  way  upon  the  right  you 
would  have  a broad  and  dreary  flat,  which  has  many 
names,  but  is  one  swamp — the  Great  Dismal  Swamp — 
once,  I believe,  and  up  to  the  days  of  Henry  the  Eighth, 
who  loved  hunting  in  Epping  and  Hainault,  and  there- 
about, full  of  alligators,  snapping  turtles,  and  Wantley 
Dragons,  or  at  least  the  Sussex  kind,  which  were  smaller. 
No  one  must  contemplate  this  swamp  too  long,  or  on 
many  days,  except  when  there  is  a sunny  sky  above,  with 
a west  wind  driving  light  clouds  about,  making  alterna- 
tions of  light  and  shade. 

It  is  not,  I think,  until  one  gets  to  Clapton  that  the 
stream  becomes  possible  for  those  who  are  affected  by  their 
surroundings;  above  that  point  it  is  a real  river,  which 
may  be  rowed  upon  or  fished  in,  and  enjoyed  as  much  as 
any  other  river  in  England,  though  with  more  moderate 
raptures.  It  is  not  so  picturesque  as  the  Wye,  for  in- 
stance; nor  so  bright  as  the  southern  Avon;  nor  so  dashing 
as  the  Usk;  nor  so  pleasing  as  the  Tyne;  nor  so  lovely  as 
the  Coquet;  but  yet  it  pleases. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


21 


It  was  on  the  evening  of  Thursday,  the  28th  of  June  in 
the  present  year  of  grace,  1883,  that  among  other  boats 
upon  the  River  Lea,  was  one — the 'only  one  with  which 
we  are  concerned — containing  two  persons.  Had  these 
two  persons  been  old,  or  even  middle-aged,  nobody  would 
have  noticed  them;  but  as  they  were  both  young,  and  one 
was  not  only  young,  but  very  pleasing  for  the  eye  to  rest 
upon,  people  on  the  bank  looked  after  them  as  the  boat 
sped  on  her  way.  As  for  the  evening,  it  was  exactly  the 
sort  of  evening  which  this  homely  river  wants  to  set  off 
its  simple  beauty;  the  wind  was  from  the  west  and  blew 
in  gusts,  but  not  too  heavily;  the  clouds  scudded  across 
the  sky,  the  air  was  clear;  there  was  a lively  ripple  in  the 
water,  and  a pleasant  lapping  and  plashing  of  the  water 
among  the  tall  rank  grass  which  serves  the  Lea  at  this 
part  in  place  of  reeds  and  water-lilies.  The  river  was 
quite  full  and  brimming  over,  but  the  girl  who  sat  in  the 
stern  and  held  the  rudder-strings  could  not  see  the  flat 
marshy  fields,  because  of  this  tall  grass  standing  in  the  red 
clay  of  the  low  bank.  When  the  sun  got  a chance  be- 
tween the  impertinent  clouds,  the  wavelets  were  blue  and 
bright,  and  sparkled  and  danced  merrily,  like  bubbles  in 
a glass  of  champagne,  or  zoedone  at  the  very  least;  so  that 
it  did  one  good  only  to  see  them.  When  a flying  cloud 
hid  the  sun,  and  the  wind  came  down  upon  the  water,  it 
became  inky-black,  and  the  little  billows  were  as  threaten- 
ing as  if  they  had  been  great  waves,  and  the  giiTs  eyes 
fell  instinctively  upon  the  young  man  with  her,  as  if  for 
protection.  This  was  quite  natural,  because  he  was  her 
lover.  Any  girl  would  have  done  the  same. 

As  for  her  appearance,  I declare  that  there  was  nothing 
at  all  out  of  the  common  in  her  face;  and  yet  she  was  very 
far  from  being  common.  Women  said  of  her  that  she 
was  rather  pretty,  in  their  cold  and  critical  way;  young 
men  would  have  found  her  charming,  but  she  only  knew 
one  or  two.  I have  seen  thousands  of  such  pretty,  sweet- 
faced English  girls,  with  the  seal  of  goodness  and  tender- 
ness on  their  foreheads;  you  may  see  them  in  any  town 
of  this  happy  realm  wherever  girls  do  congregate,  that  is 
to  say,  in  church  or  at  evening  parties — whether  most  they 
love  their  prayers  or  their  waltzing  is  a question  which  I 
leave  to  philosophers — they  are  as  plenty  as  blackberries, 
and  yet,  though  so  plenty,  they  are  so  very  precious. 


22 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


This  girl,  Milly  Montoro,  was  nineteen,  or  perhaps 
twenty;  of  her  beauty  it  is  enough  to  say  that  it  was 
entirely  conformable  to  the  ideal  of  this  present  year, 
which,  among  other  things,  likes  its  damsels  to  be  tall 
rather  than  petites,  and  perhaps  prefers  a brunette  to  a 
blonde.  This  evening  she  was  perfectly  happy;  she  had 
all  she  wanted;  love,  and  plenty  of  it;  youth,  health, 
strength,  hope,  a modest  sufficiency — what  can  girl  desire 
more?  She  was  so  happy  that  she  felt  in  a way  ashamed, 
and  afraid  of  showing  her  happiness  too  much,  lest  George 
should  think  her  silly — which  indeed  she  was  not.  She 
was  so  happy  that  she  did  not  care  much  about  talking, 
and  would  have  been  contented  to  go  on  watching  river, 
and  sky,  and  bank,  and  the  face  of  her  lover  before  her, 
without  a word;  she  was  so  happy,  in  short,  that  she  felt 
as  if  all  the  rest  of  the  world  must  needs  be  as  happy  as 
herself;  and  the  golden  age  with  Eoger  Bontemps;  the 
Ship  which  is  bound  to  come  home,  but  is  always  overdue: 
the  Home  of  Plenty;  the  Land  of  Cockaigne;  the  Garden 
of  Delight,  and  the  Paradise  of  Sweet  Contentment,  were 
all  come  together,  most  unexpectedly,  and  had  every 
intention  of  staying,  and  never  going  away  again  at  all! 
A blissful  dream,  truly!  Happy  those' who  fail  not  of  it 
once  in  their  lives. 

Along  the  bank  there  sat  rows  of  anglers.  On  the 
Lea  they  are  of  all  ages.  The  angler,  like  the  poet  and 
the  aesthete,  is  born,  not  made;  some  upon  the  bank  were 
old,  old  men,  seventy,  eighty,  ninety  years  of  age. 
Charles  Lamb,  fifty  years  ago,  used  to  see  them  in  the 
same  place,  fishing,  with  the  same  rod,  after  the  same 
roach.  Others  were  middle-aged  men,  whose  work  in  the 
City,  though  necessary,  was  irksome,  because  it  kept  them 
from  the  banks;  others  were  young  men,  but  thoughtful 
and  reflective,  who  sit  every  evening,  rod  in  hand,  in 
grave  silence  and  patience,  while  their  frivolous  compeers 
in  cruelty  collars  and  tight  trousers,  goa-mashing;  others, 
again,  were  mere  boys  and  striplings  yet,  already  bound 
for  life  to  the  brotherhood,  though  no  oaths  or  secret 
mysteries  of  initiation  and  reception  were  offered  or  re- 
quired. Milly  pitied  them  a little  this  evening;  it  cer- 
tainly did  seem  to  her  that  men  at  every  time  of  life  would 
be  better  employed  in  making  love  than  in  fishing. 

“ Oh,  George,”  she  leaned  forward  and  murmured  low, 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUHE.  23 

“do  the  young  men  never  leave  the  banks  and  look  for 
some  girl,  to  make  her  happy?” 

“ You  would  like  everybody  to  be  happy,”  said  her 
lover,  resting  on  his  oars.  “ Why,  my  darling,  it  is  not 
every  girl  who  can  make  every  man  happy.  Do  you 
think  any  other  girl  in  the  world  would  have  made  me 
happy?” 

If  you  think  of  it  there  seems  a little  arrogance  and 
self-conceit  in  this  little  speech;  but  the  young  man  did 
not  intend  it.  What  he  meant  was,  that  not  every  girl 
has  the  power  of  making  the  happiness  of  even  an  average, 
ordinary,  typical,  commonplace  young  man  such  as  him- 
self; he  was  quite  a humble  young  man  in  his  own  estima- 
tion. He  designed  to  pay  a high  compliment  to  his 
betrothed,  because,  so  lofty  being  the  ideal  woman  even 
in  the  most  commonplace  manly  bosom,  Milly  Montoro 
alone,  of  all  the  women  he  had  ever  seen,  reached  this 
giddy  height.  She  understood  him  to  mean  this,  and  she 
blushed  and  lowered  her  eyes,  being  afraid  for  herself  lest 
she  might  fail  in  this  point  or  in  that,  and  so  have  to 
come  down  to  a lower  step,  whereby  she  might  imperil  the 
affections  she  had  won. 

The  early  days  of  courtship  are,  to  an  innocent  maid, 
as  the  steps  of  one  who  walks  with  trembling  feet  upon 
frozen  snow,  doubting  the  assurance  of  the  guide  who  has 
gone  before,  and  assures  her  that  all  is  safe;  gjingdelicate- 
ly,  fearfully,  pit-a-pat,  softly  feeling  the  strength  of  the 
treacherous  surface,  until,  quite  assured  that  it  is  safe 
indeed,  the  traveler  may  walk  in  ease  and  happiness.  The 
very  peril,  however,  lends  excitement  and  pleasure  to  the 
journey. 

So  the  girl  listened,  and  her  heart  glowed  within  her  to 
hear  these  words;  and  yet  she  was  afraid.  Is  it  not  a 
delightful  thing  to  feel,  for  once  in  a life,  that  you  are  a 
real  angel,  wanting  nothing  but  a couple  of  wings,  and 
bound  to  play  up  to  the  part,  and  to  scorn  the  little 
temperous  tiffs,  sharp  sayings,  unworthy  thoughts,  with 
which  some  girls,  not  yet.  fully  assured  that  they  belong 
to  the  holy  army  of  angels,  do  poison  and  corrupt  their 
minds? 

“ Oh,  George,”  she  murmured,  “ do  not  spoil  me,  or 
you  will  be  disappointed  afterward.  Let  us  talk  of  our 
future.” 


24 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


The  young  man,  at  the  invigorating  thought  of  the 
future,  grasped  his  sculls  with  firmer  hands,  and  put  his 
back  into  half-a-dozen  strokes,  so  that  the  little  craft, 
astonished,  and  a little  hurt  in  her  feelings  and  rowlocks, 
clove  the  waters  at  racing  speed. 

I am  firmly  fixed  in  the  opinion,  and  am  prepared  to 
maintain  it  in  open  tourney,  lance  in  rest,  and  buckler 
(especially  buckler)  on  arm,  that  the  whole  hope  of  the 
country  in  the  future,  its  mainstay  in  the  present,  its 
glory  in  the  past,  lies,  will  lie,  and  has  always  lain,  in 
those  boys  who  do  not  distinguish  themselves,  or  show  any 
enthusiasm  over  the  subjects  which  we  commonly  call 
literce  humaniores , or  belles  lettres — in  other  words,  who 
do  not  “take  to  books/’  but  prefer  the  carpenter’s  shop, 
the  lathe,  the  Zoological  Gardens,  the  natural  history  of 
birds,  beasts,  fishes,  and  men;  who  want  always  to  find 
out  how  things  are  done,  with  what  tools  and  methods, 
and  then  are  never  satisfied  until  they  can  see  their  way  to 
improve  those  methods;  whose  heaven  upon  this  earth  is 
a chemical  and  physical  laboratory;  who  really  cannot  be 
made  to  care  for  poetry — unless  there  is  a rattling  good 
story  in  it — or  for  a story  unless  it  is  real,  full  of  advent- 
ure, and  the  fellow  who  wrote  it  knew  what  he  was  talking 
about;  who  have  no  feeling  for  style  and  no  taste  for  the 
rhythm  of  verse,  the  fine  aroma  of  an  essay,  the  balance 
of  a period,  the  pointing  of  an  epigram.  That  those  who 
do — bookish  men — exist  at  all  seems  to  those,  who  do  not, 
chiefly  due  to  the  necessity  for  keeping  printers  occupied. 
But  what  a waste  of  life  it  appears  compared  with  that 
which  is  wholly  given  over  to  practical  contrivances,  making 
easy  what  has  hitherto  proved  hard,  and  cheap  what  has 
hitherto  been  dear.  George  Ambrose  was  one  of  the  practi- 
cal men.  Look  at  him  as  he  handles  his  sculls,  with  bare 
head  and  up-rolled  sleeves.  You  see  that  he  has  a clear 
steady  eye,  clean-cut  features,  a mouth  set  firm,  and  a 
square  chin.  These  are  all  indications  pointing  in  the  same 
direction.  As  a boy,  when  other  boys  read  books,  he  made 
things,  or  inquired  into  causes.  When  it  became  time 
for  him  to  leave  school,  he  requested  that  he  might  not  be 
sent  into  the  City,  whither  all  his  schoolfellows  were 
bound,  but  might  find  a place,  if  it  were  only  as  door- 
keeper, in  some  establishment  where  they  made  things. 
His  request  was  granted,  because  in  the  lower  valley  of 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


25 


the  Lea  such  a request  is  recognized  as  not  only  reasonable, 
but  as  likely  to  lead  unto  things  substantial.  The  only 
difficulty  with  a young  man  is  to  choose,  for  there  are  at 
Stratford,  West  Ham,  Hackney  Wick,  yea,  and  at  Clapton 
itself,  men  running  many  and  divers  trades,  arts,  and  in- 
dustries— those  who  spin  jute,  make  cigar-boxes,  creosote, 
patent  fuel,  dye,  tanks,  crucibles,  grease,  chicory,  drain- 
pipes; with  workers  in  glass,  iron,  leather,  stone,  lead, 
gelatine,  tin,  zinc,  and  xylonite;  and  money  to  be  made 
in  all  these  trades  did  one  know  how  to  choose  the  most 
likely.  • Young  Ambrose  made  two  or  three  false  starts. 
First,  he  entered  the  works  of  a gas  company,  but  speedily 
mastered  the  subject,  and  despised  a thing  in  which  the 
amount  of  knowledge  required  is  so  limited.  Next,  he 
went  into  a galvanized  iron  company,  but  pined  for  still 
wider  scope,  and  finally  began  afresh  at  the  bottom  of  the 
ladder  in  a great  chemical  company,  which  had  to  do  with 
a whole  group  of  things,  every  one  of  inexhaustible  inter- 
est. He  was  now  twenty-six  years  of  age;  he  had  worked 
his  way  up  to  a good  salary  and  highly  responsible  work; 
he  had  taken  his  degree  in  science  at  the  university  in 
Piccadilly;  he  was  a member  of  the  Chemical  Society;  he 
had  written  papers  and  was  already  known;  and  he  was  so 
full  of  ambitions,  projects,  designs,  hopes,  and  plans,  that 
it  was  impossible  for  him  to  remain  any  longer  alone,  but 
needs  must  that  lie  take  a wife.  Whom  should  he  take 
but  the  girl  he  had  known  for  a dozen  years,  who  lived 
with  his  own  cousin,  Reginald  Ambler— the  best  and 
sweetest  of  girls,  and  eke  the  prettiest?  He,  who  had 
thought  for  ten  years  of  nothing  but  the  laboratory  at  the 
works,  his  experiments,  his  science,  and  his  reading,  dis- 
covered suddenly  that  he  had  always  been  in  love  with 
Milly  Montoro,  and  when  he  proposed  to  her,  which  he 
did  with  as  much  eloquence,  yet  fear  and  trembling,  as  if 
he  had  been  a poet  of  the  first  water,  he  told  her  so,  and 
ascribed  not  to  himself,  but  to  her,  all  the  merit. 

“ Milly  dear,”  he  said,  after  throwing  his  excitement 
into  the  boat,  “the  house  is  perfect;  no  basement,  no 
kitchen  below,  two  rooms  on  the  ground-floor,  three  above 
— nobody  can  want  more.  IPs  only  two  miles  from  Strat- 
ford and  one  from  the  river,  where  we  shall  like  to  take  a 
row  now  and  then.  As  to  the  garden,  you  shall  have  the 
front  for  jour  flowers,  and  I shall  have  "the  back  for  pease 


26 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE, 


and  beans.  On  Saturday  afternoons  I will  look  after 
it.” 

tC  Yes,  George,  and  I will  look  after  it  every  day.  Go 
on.  You  will  start  every  morning  at  half-past  eight. 
Yes,  I know,  breakfast  at  half-past  seven;  but  you  will  be 
at  home  to  tea  by  seven  every  evening.  George,  we  must 
make  our  evenings  delightful.  Sometimes  you  shall  read 
to  me;  I will  play  for  you;  I will  teach  you  to  sing;  you 
have  got  a very  good  voice,  sir,  only  you  want  to  be  taught 
how  to  keep  it  in  order.  On  Sundays  we  will  go  to 
church  together — no  more  reading  chemistry  on  Sunday 
mornings — and  after  church  a little  walk,  and  then  din- 
ner. Think  of  having  you  to  dinner  every  Sunday! 
After  dinner  I shall  send  you  for  a long  walk  to  shake  the 
cobwebs  out  of  your  brain,  and  you  shall  come  home  to 
tea  and  supper.  Perhaps  we  may  have  one  or  two  of  the 
children  to  tea  with  us;  and,  George,  we  will  furnish  the 
spare  room,  so  as  to  give  a bed  to  them  sometimes,  will  we 
not?  They  are  as  good  as  my  brothers  and  sisters,  you 
know,  and ” 

“You  mean  you  have  been  as  good  as  a sister  to  them, 
Millv,”  he  laughed.  “ Yes,  you  shall  have  your  spare 
room,  and  put  as  many  of  the  children  into  the  bed  as 
the  bed  will  hold.  My  dear,  I do  not  want  you  to  lose 
your  friends.” 

“ No,  George.”  The  tears  stood  in  her  eyes  for  a mo- 
ment, but  soon  cleared  away.  “ It  is  bad  enough  for 
them,  poor  dears,  as  it  is.  They  have  been  crying  ever 
since  it  was  fixed  for  August.” 

George  showed  no  kind  of  sympathy  with  these  poor 
sufferers,  knowing  that  their  loss  was  his  own  gain.  This 
feeling  very  much  helps  to  harden  the  heart;  and,  besides, 
he  was  ready  to  explain,  if  necessary,  that  every  girl  must 
expect  to  exchange  her  home  for  her  husband,  and  to 
point  out  that  it  was  not  as  if  the  young  Amblers  had 
any  real  claim  upon  Milly,  who  was  neither  kith  nor  kin, 
but  had  only  lived  with  them  for  eight  years  or  so;  and 
the  fact  that  they  regarded  her  as  their  elder  sister  did 
not  make  her  one,  but  showed  only  the  extraordinary 
goodness  of  her  disposition,  seeing  that  she  could  com- 
mand an  amount  of  affection  as  can  only  be  wrung  from 
the  unsympathetic  breasts  of  the  young  by  extraordinary 
sacrifice  and  ceaseless  devotion.  These  thoughts  passed 


A GL0K10US  EOJiTUJSE. 


27 


through  his  brain  quickly,  but  without  requiring  him  to 
put  them  into  words.  So  he  only  looked  at  his  fiancee 
and  nodded  his  head,  and  she  understood  just  as  well  as 
if  he  had  talked  a whole  yard,  or  an  ell  or  two,  of  printed 
slips. 

Then  the  young  chemist  began  to  talk  of  his  own 
schemes,  which  it  would  be  a shame  to  reveal,  because  he 
is  in  reality  another  Edison,  only  as  yet  his  plans  have 
not  become  patents.  He  knew  all  the  things  which  want 
to  be  invented  or  made  practicable  through  being  made 
cheap,  with  the  inventions  which  want  to  be  converted 
from  toys  to  practical  purposes,  and  the  possibilities  of 
certain  scientific  facts  which  are  as  yet  in  the  limbo  of 
unpractical  laboratories.  Heavens!  what  extended  open- 
ings, chances,  opportunities,  and  occasions  there  are  for 
the  young  chemist  who  has  got  eyes  that  look  outside  his 
retort  and  can  connect  his  laboratory  with  humanity! 

“ You  shall  find  out  all  the  things  that  have  to  be  found 
out,  George,”  cried  Milly,  as  if  every  woman  has  the  power 
of  conferring  genius,  insight,  conception,  and  more  power 
to  his  elbow  upon  the  man  she  loves.  And  yet  not  every 
woman,  my  friends;  but  unto  some  women  is  this  power 
given,  and  then  happy — thrice  happy — is  he  whom  that 
woman  loves.  The  powers  of  women  are  as  yet  imper- 
fectly known,  which  is  one  reason  why  they  sometimes 
try  to  imitate  man;  and  I wish  I could  be  born  a hundred 
years  hence,  when  these  powers  are  understood  and  devel- 
oped, and  be  clever,  strong,  handsome,  fresh,  and  frolic. 
Then  would  a great  career  await  me.  Perhaps — who 

knows? 

“ Oh,”  he  went  on,  u when  one  thinks  of  the  wonder- 
ful world  which  is  opening  out  all  round  us;  the  instru- 
ments which  register  speech  so  that  it  can  never  be  lost — 
fancy,  Milly,  all  one’s  foolish  words  preserved  for  ever — 
the  little  machine  with  which  a scene  is  caught  in  a mo- 
ment and  so  never  lost;  the  wire  which  sends  messages, 
and  the  wire  which  whispers  words;  the  unknown  forces 
which  our  great  men  are  reducing  to  order  and  obedience, 
so  that  before  many  years  the  reign  of  steam,  and  gas, 
and  coal  will  be  at  an  end.  It  seems  as  if  there  was 
nothing  else  worth  living  for,  and  everything  outside  the 
laboratory  was  a sham  and  a delusion,  except  the  school 
which  prepares  the  boys  for  the  workshop  ” 


28 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ And  me,  George/5  said  Milly  jealously.  “Am  I not 
worth  living  for?  Tell  me  all  that  is  in  your  thoughts 
always.  I know  nothing  of  your  science,  but  you  shall 
teach  me.  Promise  that  you  will  tell  me  everything.55 

“ My  dear/5  he  replied,  “ that  is  the  reason  why  I want 
you  to  marry  me,  because  I must  talk  to  some  one.55 

Again,  he  did  not  mean  to  be  selfish,  vet  he  might  have 
seemed  so;  but  he  had  never  learned  the  language  of  com- 
pliment, and  he  meant  that  to  Milly  it  was  an  honor  that 
he  should  think  her  able  to  understand  and  to  share  his 
thoughts;  and  all,  just  as  before,  because  he  was  a humble 
youth,  who  felt  himself  to  be  quite  of  the  ordinary  kind, 
but  educated,  which  Milly  was  not,  only  that  she  belonged 
to  the  nobler  kind  of  women  who  could,  he  thought,  un- 
derstand everything  without  education.  Indeed,  one 
knows  hundreds  of  women  who  do,  and  will  sit  out  the 
most  scientific  lecture,  bristling  with  hard  words,  their 
faces  as  full  of  intelligence  at  the  end  as  at  the  beginning; 
and  I do  not  for  a moment  believe  the  wicked  calumny 
which  accuses  them  of  abstracting  their  thoughts  at  the 
very  beginning,  and  so  remaining  during  the  whole  dis- 
course. 

Then  he,  in  his  turn,  listened  while  Milly  told  him  her 
thoughts,  but  bashfully,  being  afraid  lest,  after  the  great 
ambition  of  her  lover,  her  own  hopes  might  seem  to  him 
small.  Yet  they  were  not,  because  they  were  nothing 
short  of  an  ardent  desire  to  possess  her  life  with  ease,  love, 
and  happiness,  and  her  soul  with  comfort.  No  woman 
can  desire  more,  so  that,  in  fact,  Milly  was  most  ambi- 
tious. It  is  true  that  almost  every  girl  permits  herself  the 
same  dream.  While  they  talked,  the  sun  went  down,  and 
a light  mist  rose  upon  the  low  ground  and  spread  over 
the  river.  Then  they  turned,  and  George  rowed  gently 
down  stream,  the  water  plashing  at  the  bows. 

“George/5  said  Milly  presently,  “I  am  thinking  of  my 
father.55 

“ Why/5  he  replied,  “it  is  four  years  since  you  heard 
from  him.  He  must  be  dead,  long  ago.55 

“Yes/5  she  sighed;  “else  he  would  never  have  for- 
gotten me.  I will  show  you  some  of  his  letters.  They 
are  full  of  love  and  thought  for  me.  He  must  be  dead — 
my  poor  father!  And  to  think  that  he  never  saw  me  since 
J was  a child  in  arms.  He  was  only  a clerk  in  the  City, 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


20 


you  know;  and  suddenly  lie  resolved  to  go  abroad  and 
make  his  fortune,  which  shows  what  a courageous  spirit 
he  had.  But  no  one  ever  thought  he  would  have  done  so 
splendidly.” 

“ No  one  ever  knows,”  said  George,  “ what  he  can  do, 
until  he  is  put  upon  his  mettle.  Yet  he  must  have  been 
a determined  and  clever  man.  Because,  you  see,  Milly,  if 
fortunes  are  to  be  made  in  America,  the  Americans  are 
generally  sharp  enough  to  keep  them  in  their  own  hands.! 
At  the  same  time,  very  often  people  do  not  see  what  lies 
at  their  feet.  What  did  he  go  away  for?  Because  I am 
quite  sure  a clever  man  can  do  quite  as  well  at  home.” 
“Can  he?”  asked  Milly.  “I  thought  that  everybody 
who  goes  to  America  makes  a great  fortune.” 

“ That  is  what  they  hope  to  do  beforehand.  When  they 
are  there,  I believe  they  find  life  as  hard,  and  money  as 
scarce,  as  it  is  at  home.  There  is  a clerk  in  the  account- 
ant’s office  at  the  works  who  remembers  your  father.  Says 
nobody  ever  thought  much  of  his  cleverness;  says  he  was  a 
lazy,  easy  sort  of  chap,  who  did  his  work  and  went  home, 
and  was  happy.  No  one  ever  could  understand  why  he 
threw  up  a good  place  and  went  away.” 

“ Yet,”  said  Milly,  “ my  father  said  once  in  his  letters 
that  America  offers  such  a vast  field  for  a man  that  his 
money  can  be  invested  as  fast  as  it  is  made.  Sometimes 
he  spoke  of  millions.” 

“ Why,  dear,”  said  her  lover,  “ if  these  millions  could 
be  found!  They  must  be  somewhere;  but  I am  afraid 
they  have  got  into  the  wrong  hands;  what  splendid  works 
we  would  put  up!  Oh,  Lord!”  he  sighed  heavily. 
“ What  a laboratory  we  could  have  with  a million  to 
spend  on  it.  Think  of  the  electric  batteries!  What  ex- 
periments we  could  direct,  and  what  an  army  of  workmen 
we  could  employ!” 

“It  would  be  too  delightful  George,”  Milly  replied, 
kindling  in  sympathy.  “ You  should  be  the  greatest  man 
in  Stratford.  But  my  poor  father  is  dead,  and  as  for  his 
fortune,  that  must  be  all  gone  and  scattered.” 

I think  she  imagined  her  father’s  fortune  to  consist  of 
dollars  tied  up  in  sacks.  But  we  know  otherwise. 

“If,”  he  said,  “your  father’s  money  was  invested,  the 
investments  must  be  somewhere  and  the  papers  in  some- 
body’s hands.  Unless,  that  is,  people  stole  them  and 


30 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUHE. 


forged  his  signature.  There  must  be  all  kinds  of  mort- 
gages, shares,  leases,  contracts,  bonds,  all  sorts  of  things. 
Unless,  again — money  got  easily  is  as  easily  lost — the 
speculations  proved  disastrous.  Come,  my  dear;  never 
think  of  your  father’s  fortune.  We  shall  never  see  any  of 
it.  Why,  with  my  three. hundred  a year  and  your  hun- 
dred and  fifty,  we  shall  begin  twice  as  well  off  as  most 
young  married  people.  And  of  course  I shall  get  a rise; 
not  to  speak  of  the  great  things  we  shall  do  presently. 
And  here  we  are.  Steady,  steady.  Let  me  get  out 
first.” 

• They  walked  along  the  lane,  between  the  river  and  the 
road.  Milly  turned  back  to  look  at  the  river  when  they 
reached  the  higher  ground. 

The  romantic  suburb  of  Upper  Clapton  stands  upon  a 
terrace,  like  Richmond,  and  overlooks  the  broad  valley  of 
the  Lea;  gardens  lie  on  the  gentle  slope  of  the  low  hill, 
and  beyond  these  you  can  discern  the  river  winding  about 
among  the  flat  meadows;  beyond  the  meadows,  again,  are 
the  hills  and  wooded  inclines  of  AValthamstow,  Woodford, 
and  Chingford;  beyond  these  (but  you  cannot  see  it)  is 
Epping  Forest. 

“See,”  said  Milly,  “how  white  and  strange  the  mead- 
ows look  with  the  mist  upon  them,  and  how  shadowy  the 
marshes  lie  beyond  it.  And  look!  did  you  ever  see  a moon 
so  big  and  dim?” 

“A  sign  of  rain,”  said  George  the  practical. 

“ George,”  said  the  girl,  shivering,  “ I feel  afraid. 
Give  me  your  hand.  How  strong  it  is!  If  there  was  any 
danger  I should  always  have  this  strong  hand,  shouldn’t 
I ?” 

He  kissed  her — no  one  was  in  the  lane,  and  it  was  twi- 
light and  misty  beside — he  kissed  her  twice,  on  her  fore- 
head and  her  lips,  saying: 

“Why,  dear,  what  danger  can  there  be?  And  if  there 
were?”  He  clinched  his  fist  and  his  eyes  looked  danger- 
ous. “ Come,  my  darling.  It  is  past  nine  o’clock,  and 
the  Great  Discoverer  will  be  getting  hungry.  To  say  noth- 
ing of  Kepler,  Gopernica,  and  Tycho  Brahe.  ” 


JL  GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


31 


CHAPTER  III. 

IS  THE  WORLD  ROUND. 

Supper  was  laid  in  the  dining-room  of  Veritas  Villa 
waiting  for  the  return  of  Milly  and  her  lover.  I call  it 
the  dining-room,  but  it  was  also  the  breakfast-room,  the 
sitting-room,  the  day-nursery,  the  play-room,  the  work- 
room, and  my  lady’s  boudoir;  not  because  there  were  not 
other  rooms  in  this  genteel  villa,  but  because  the  drawing- 
room was  wanted  for  Mr.  Ambler’s  maps  and  books,  and 
the  breakfast-room,  which  opened  conveniently  upon  the 
garden,  for  his  observatory,  his  models,  his  Orrery,  his 
telescope,  and  his  scientific  instruments.  If  you  belong 
to  a great  man  you  must  be  content  to  let  him  have  the 
comfort.  There  are  so  few  great  men  that  this  law  causes 
little  hardship.  Besides,  who  would  not  willingly  give 
up  two  out  of  three  rooms  for  the  pride  of  being  an 
Ambler? 

The  boys,  this  evening,  were  shaping  bows — that  is  to 
say,  they  were  making  things  with  knives — boys  who 
never  have  pocket-money  are  greatly  to  be  envied,  because 
they  learn  to  make  so  many  things  for  themselves;  and 
the  girls  were  spinning.  That  is  to  say,  Copernica  Am- 
bler, the  only  girl  in  the  room,  was  finishing  a frock  for 
her  sister  Somerville,  now  in  bed,  and  asleep,  while  her 
mother,  with  a great  basket  beside  her,  which  never  grew 
less  in  bulk,  was  looking  after  the  stockings  and  the  socks 
darning-needle  in  hand.  Across  her  face  lays  the  line  of 
care  which  marks  the  face  of  the  woman  who  has  to  make 
every  shilling  do  the  work  of  half-a-crown,  and  contrives, 
manages,  and  continually  occupies  her  mind  with  the 
maintenance  of  her  children.  Who  does  not  know  such 
women  by  the  score?  It  seems  a waste  of  life,  this  giving 
\t  all  to  the  boys  and  girls;  but  perhaps  it  is  made  up 
somehow — here  or  hereafter. 

When  Milly  came  home,  followed  by  her  lover,  there  was 
a general  stir,  with  the  sudden  appearance  of  smiles  and 
revival  of  cheerfulness,  due  partly  to  the  immediate  pros- 
pect of  supper,  and  partly  as  the  toll  of  affection  exacted 
at  all  hours  by  this  young  person.  For  the  mother  looked 


32 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUHE. 


up  and  smiled  over  her  pile  of  stockings;  and  Copernica, 
who  was  a sharp-featured  thin  girl  of  sixteen,  who  wore 
spectacles,  held  up  her  newly-finished  skirt  for  admiration; 
and  the  boys  shouted;  and  everyone  called  upon  Milly 
for  sympathy  with  his  work;  and  everybody  had  some- 
thing to  tell  her,  which  was  always  the  way  when  she 
came  home,  whether  she  had  been  away  for  an  hour  or  a 
<%• 

“You  must  he  hungry,  George,”  said  Mrs.  Ambler. 
“ Tycho,  my  dear,  go  call  your  father.” 

Everybody,  or  nearly  everybody,  knows  Reginald  Am- 
bler by  reputation;  a very  large  class  of  humanity,  namely, 
the  Editors,  know  his  handwriting,  and  cruelly  toss  his 
communications  into  the  basket  unread;  few,  compara- 
tively, have  the  advantage  of  his  personal  acquaintance. 
He  is  a man  now  about  fifty  years  of  age;  he  is  rather  tall 
and  thin,  his  hair,  gone  gray,  lies  over  his  forehead  in  a 
great  mass,  which  he  is  always  pushing  back;  his  eyes  are 
large  and  full;  they  are  also  of  a light  blue  color,  so  that 
his  face  seems  at  first  furnished  with  too  much  eye.  When 
he  is  in  repose,  the  eyes  have  a far-off  look;  when  he  is 
talking,  they  are  quick  and  eager.  His  lips  are  nervous 
and  his  fingers  are  restless.  Columbus,  one  thinks,  must 
have  been  a good  deal  like  Mr.  Reginald  Ambler.  As  for 
his  manner,  it  varies  with  every  hour,  ranging  from  the 
depth  of  despondency — when  an  article  has  been  rejected 
or  a letter  treated  contemptuously — to  the  height  of  con- 
fidence, hope,  and  happiness — when  he  has  begun  another 
or  has  trapped  some  unfortunate  into  a controversy.  And 
he  has  never  been  known  to  engage  in  any  other  subject 
of  conversation,  or  think  upon  any  other  matter  whatever, 
except  his  Great  Discovery. 

To-night  he  came  to  the  supper-table  and  sat  down  with 
a smile  of  welcome. 

“Milly,  my  child,”  he  said,  “take  your  place  beside 
me.  George,  you  next  to  her,  of  course.  Copernica,  my 
dear,  this  side  of  me.  Galileo,  fill  George’s  glass.  Cut 
some  bread,  Tycho,  my  boy.  Kepler,  some  cheese  for 

Milly  and  your  sister.  So ” He  rubbed  his  hands 

and  looked  round  upon  his  boys  with  the  simple  pride  of 
a father,  though  he  was  so  great  a man.  “ Ptolemy  and 
Mary  Somerville  have  gone  to  bed,  I suppose? 

“ This  day,”  he  went  on,  “ will  be  a remarkable  day  in 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


33 


my  history.  I have  noted  it  in  the  Autobiography.  Chil- 
dren, I have  now  laid  down  the  last  of  the  great  voyages 
round  the  world  completely  on  the  map.  It  threatened 
to  be  troublesome  at  first,  but  it  agrees,  I find — of  course 
I expected  nothing  less — with  my  anticipations  in  every 
particular!” 

“ Oh,  father!”  Copernica  clapped  her  hands.  The  wife 
smiled,  her  mind  being  still  full  of  the  socks  in  the  basket. 
Milly  nodded  and  laughed.  The  boys  alone  said  nothing. 
Boys,  if  you  come  to  think  of  it,  never  understand  a 
father’s  greatness.  Many  great  men  have  lamented  this 
to  me,  speaking  confidentially.  “ Oh,  father!”  cried  Coper- 
nica, “ what  will  they  say  now?” 

“ They  will  say,  my  daughter,  what  they  always  do  say. 
The  Fellows  of  the  Geographical  Society  will  sneer;  the 
Editors  of  scientific  journals  will  refuse  to  listen;  comic 
writers  will  make  jokes  upon  it;  map-makers  and  globe- 
makers  will  try  to  hide  the  truth;  and  the  rest  of  the 
world,  like  George  here,  will  pass  it  over  without  paying 
any  attention.” 

“If  it  were  something  in  the  chemical  line,”  said 
George,  “I  would  listen;  as  it  is  not,  I have  not  time 
for  it.” 

This  he  said  out  of  subtlety  and  duplicity,  because  in 
his  secret  soul  he  jeered  at  the  Great  Discovery. 

“ No,  no;  and  thus  it  is,”  said  the  Philosopher,  “that 
the  greatest  discoveries  steal  upon  the  world,  and  those 
who  make  them  are  unheeded.  I have  now  laid  down 
upon  the  map  the  route  of  every  great  voyager;  my  dig* 
tances,  my  time,  agree  with  his!  Show  me  the  globe- 
geographer  who  has  ever  attempted  the  like.  Yes,  my 
work  is  done;  the  chain  of  evidence  is  complete;  I can  at 
any  moment,  if  I should  be  called  away,  leave  the  work  of 
my  life  to  the  judgment  of  posterity.  As  for  my  con- 
temporaries, they  may,  if  they  choose,  continue  to  class 
me  with  the  crack-brained  enthusiasts — ” 

“ Oh,  father,”  said  Copernica. 

“ — who  think  they  can  square  the  circle,  find  out  the 
site  of  Paradise — ” 

“I  wish  I could  go  and  look  in  at  the  gate,”  said  Milly. 

“ — and  transmute  metals.” 

“That  would  be  only  changing  the  currency,”  said 
George. 


34 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUKE. 


The  boys  were  steadily  eating.  They  had  heard  this 
talk  before. 

“ As  for  meeting  me  on  a platform/’  Mr.  Ambler  con- 
tinued, “ they  remember  the  victory  over  Bagshott,  and 
tremble.” 

Bagshott  was  a Baptist  minister  who  once  ventured  on 
a public  controversy  with  Mr.  Ambler,  and  had  his  head 
knocked  into  a cocked  hat,  a thing  quite  improper  for  a 
minister  of  the  Gospel  to  wear,  and  recanted,  and  was 
now  a fervent  disciple. 

“ As  for  admitting  at  once  and  peacefully  that  I am 
right,  and  they  themselves,  therefore,  wrong,  that  is,  I 
suppose,  too  much  to  expect  of  anyone,  especially  of  men 
who  live  by  the  propagation  of  error.” 

“ A great  deal  too  much,”  said  George. 

The  boys  went  on  with  their  supper  and  said  nothing. 
The  two  elder  lads,  Tycho  Brahe  and  Kepler,  arrived  at 
the  dignity  of  clerkery,  had  long  since  plainly  understood, 
and  now  made  no  secret  of  their  opinion,  that  a Great 
Discovery  may  be  a most  calamitous  thing  for  a family. 
Palissy,  himself,  did  not  bring  a more  rooted  antipathy  to 
fame  into  his  home-circle  than  their  father.  Honor  and 
glory  are  very  fine  things  indeed;  meantime,  when  they 
are  abstract  qualities,  and  therefore  unproductive,  and  the 
heels  of  your  boots  are  down,  they  might  be  sold,  if  there 
were  any  purchaser,  for  whatever  they  would  fetch  in  the 
rough. 

“Better,  far  better,”  thought  Tycho,  “for  my  father 
to  care  nothing  at  all  about  honor,  but  a good  deal  about 
making  money,  and  saving  it  or  using  it  to  push  his  boys.” 

Such  a father  he  would  have  desired,  red  of  cheek,  im- 
portant in  his  bearing,  pompous  in  his  talk,  as  might  be 
seen  every  day  on  Stamford  Hill;  a father  who  could  put 
his  sons  into  good  houses,  buy  them  partnerships,  give 
them  holidays  at  the  seaside,  with — oh,  all  the  things  for 
which  these  lads  vainly  longed. 

Reginald  Ambler  is  nothing  less,  if  you  please,  than  the 
Discoverer  of  the  great  truth  that  the  world,  so  far  from 
being  a round  ball,  thoughtfully  flattened  at  the  north 
and  south,  so  as  to  prevent  the  ice  from  slipping  down 
and  spoiling  the  equator,  is  really,  as  can  be  demonstrated 
with  ease,  a great  flat  circular  disc  of  unknown  thickness. 
What  we  call  the  Arctic  Pole,  believing  that  the  world 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


35 


twirls  perpetually  and  ignominiously  round  it,  like  a fat 
goose  upon  the  spit,  is  in  fact  a central  circle  of  ice  and 
snow,  the  origin  and  cause  of  which  must  be  left  for  the 
discovery  of  future  philosophers;  round  it  is  the  temper- 
ate zone;  beyond  this  the  torrid  zone;  beyond  this  again 
another  great  temperate  circle,  in  which  Australia,  the 
Cape  of  Good  Hope,  and  New  Zealand  are  comfortably 
placed;  “ neither  het  nor  cauld,”  as  the  Scot  said.  Out- 
side this  vast  temperate  zone  the  ocean  lies,  a tract  of  sea 
indeed,  immeasurable,  desolate,  without  land  or  sail. 
Spread  round  in  another,  and  the  last,  great  circle,  beyond 
the  ocean  at  the  outer-edge,  is  a Rim,  ledge,  hedge,  bar- 
rier, frontier-mark,  boundary- wall,  or  whatever  the  inade- 
quacy of  language  permits  us  to  call  it,  of  thick,  solid, 
mountainous  ice.  How  broad  is  this  Rim,  whether  it 
stretches  out  forever  into  boundless  space,  whether  it  is 
narrow,  so  that  perhaps  some  day  the  voyager  may  hope 
to  reach  its  limit,  and  to  peep  over  into  infinity,  no  one 
can  at  present  say.  From  time  to  time  ships,  which  have 
sailed  south,  have  reported  cliffs,  rocks,  and  mountains, 
ice-bound,  covered  with  snow,  inaccessible,  inhospitable, 
without  life.  Nothing  lives  in  this  boundary  Rim  except, 
upon  the  edge  of  it,  a few  seals,  walruses,  narwhals, 
sword-fish,  polar  bears,  whales,  and  such  sea  monsters, 
who  do  not  know  how  miserable  they  are.  As  for  men 
there  are  none  at  all,  and  will  be  none  till  time  shall  be  no 
more. 

“ What  is  beyond  the  Rim,”  said  Reginald  modestly, 
“I  cannot  say  any  more  than  the  globe-professors  can  tell 
you  what  is  beyond  the  furthest  star.” 

This  improved  kind  of  earth  requires  an  entirely  new 
disposition  of  the  heavens. 

Reginald,  quite  early  in  the  history  of  his  Discovery, 
remembered  this,  and  constructed,  with  infinite  pains, 
a beautiful  Orrery.  In  this,  the  sun,  no  longer  an  im- 
mense globe  of  fire  ninety  millions  of  miles  away,  or  there- 
abouts, but  a comfortable  little  fireplace,  so  to  speak,  half- 
a-dozen  miles  above  the  world,  went  round  and  round 
above  the  great  circle  of  the  torrid  zone, wobbling  to  north 
or  south  so  as  to  produce  summer  and  winter.  He  pulled 
a string,  and  you  saw  the  daily  and  the  annual  motion 
most  clearly  set  forth.  The  moon  and  planets  in  the  same 
way  went  on  what  seemed  to  be  recklessly  independent 


36 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


and  dangerous  paths  of  their  own,  and  the  fixed  stars  went 
round  the  polar  star  continually.  By  an  ingenious  adjust- 
ment of  bars,  eccentrics,  and  curves,  he  accounted  for  all 
the  natural  phenomena — except  one.  This  exception 
came  home  to  him  sometimes  in  th&  dead  of  night,  and 
took  the  conceit  out  of  him.  He  had  never  been  able  to 
account  for  lunar  eclipses?  Why  not  lunar  eclipses?  It 
is  too  much  to  say  that  his  faith  ever  wavered,  but  he  was 
worried  and  rendered  unhappy  when  he  remembered  that 
his  Orrery  would  account  for  everything  except  a lunar 
eclipse.  But  those  moments,  happily,  were  rare.  Mostly 
he  was  content  to  gaze  upon  his  model  with  a perfect  satisv 
faction,  to  show  inquirers  over  and  over  again  how,  upon 
a flat  and  stationary  earth,  all  the  natural  phenomena, 
morning,  noon,  and  evening,  with  the  four  seasons,  the. 
phases  of  the  noon,  the  winter’s  downward  slope,  and  the 
summer’s  elevation  of  the  sun,  can  all  be  explained  and 
accounted  for. 

Naturally  he  became  one  of  the  bugbears — there  are  al- 
ways half-a-dozen  living  at  the  same  time — of  the  scien- 
tific world.  He  wrote  to  all  the  papers,  journals,  trans- 
actions, and  reports  of  the  learned  bodies;  he  offered  to 
lecture,  he  asked  for  an  hour — only  one  short  hour;  he 
sent  his  name  with  the  offers  of  a paper,  to  the  British 
Association,  to  the  Serial  Science  Congress,  to  the  Balloon 
Society,  to  the  Church  Congress,  to  the  Oriental  Congress, 
to  the  Congress  of  Librarians,  to  the  Congress  of  Head- 
masters, to  the  Geographical  Society,  the  Geologists,  the 
Society  of  Arts,  the  Physical  Society,  the  Royal  Astronom- 
ical Society,  the  Young  Men’s  Christian  Institute,  the 
Sunday  School  Union,  the  Church  Missionary  Society3 
the  Open-Air  Mission,  the  Salvation  Army,  the  Eleusis 
Club,  the  Grand  Lodge  of  Freemasons,  and  the  Congress 
of  Cathedral  Vergers,  not  once,  but  every  year,  offering  to 
read  a paper,  show  his  maps  and  models,  and  reconstruct 
the  geography  and  shape  of  the  world.  It  is  sad  to  relate 
that  no  one  paid  the  least  attention  to  these  proposals, 
and,  being  now  fifty  years  of  age,  and  with  many  years’ 
experience,  he  had  ceased  to  expect  a hearing  from  these 
learned  bodies,  any  more  than  he  expected  admission  into 
the  Times,  Standard,  Daily  News,  Morning  Post,  Daily 
Telegraph,  and  Daily  Chronicle,  of  the  letters  which  he 
regularly  sent  them  all  once  every  year,  after  six  months 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


37 


of  preparation  As  for  (lie  monthly,  weekly,  and  quarter- 
ly journal  u lie  had  tried  them  all.  They  would  have  none 
of  him.  And  as  for  eminent  men  of  science,  there  was 
not  a single  mathematician  at  Cambridge,  or  a professor 
of  science  in  any  university  or  college  of  the  United  King- 
dom to  whom  he  did  not  propose  a meeting,  public  or 
private,  to  discuss  his  theories.  The  signal  victory  al- 
ready alluded  to,  which  he  achieved  over  the  Rev.  Mr. 
Bagshott,  Baptist  minister  of  Hackney  Wick,  in  a public 
discussion  held  at  the  chapel,  was  an  abiding  proof  of  his 
strength  in  advocacy  and  the  goodness  of  his  cause. 

The  school  is  small — it  consists  really  of  two,  the 
Prophet  himself  and  Bagshott,  but  it  is  full  of  zeal.  They 
have  an  office,  and  an  office-boy,  in  Chiswell  Street.  The 
office  is  a second-pair  back;  the  office-boy,  whose  hours 
are  from  nine  to  six,  spends  his  time  chiefly  in  the  street 
surveying  mankind;  the  publications — tracts  and  maps — 
of  the  society  are  on  sale  there,  but  no  one  has  ever  bought 
a copy  except  a journalist,  who  once  saw  his  way  to  a 
scoffing  article  on  the  subject,  and  so  bought  everything 
there  was,  and  put  the  things  in  his  pocket-book  and 
went  away;  and  presently  forgot  all  about  it.  In  fact, 
there  exists  a general  conspiracy  against  the  Truth. 

“ Astronomers/’  said  Mr.  Ambler,  “ tremble  at  men- 
tion of  my  name  for  fear,  but  pretend  to  smile  in  scorn. 
They  hope  their  system  will  last  at  least  their  own  time, 
forgetting  that  to  be  found  out  after  death  will  be  more 
fatal  to  their  reputation  than  to  yield  in  life.  In  my  au- 
tobiography will  be  found  not  only  the  ‘ Short  Reasons’ 
but  also  the  * Argument  at  Length/  and  the  ‘ Questions  ’ 
which  I have  sent  to  every  one  of  them  demanding  a rely, 
a platform,  a public  discussion,  or  an  opportunity  to  state 
my  views.  Not  one  of  them  has  given  me  either.  It  will, 
indeed/’  he  added,  with  a lofty  sneer,  “ be  greatly  to  the 
credit  of  the  Universities,  in  the  next  century,  that  they 
refused  even  to  let  me  speak.” 

It  was  in  this  house  that  Milly  was  placed  when  the 
death  of  her  mother  left  her  alone  at  ten  years  of  age.  The 
reasons  why  Mr.  Reginald  Ambler  was  chosen  for  her 
guardian  were  unusual,  but  not  without  precedent.  He 
had  a cousin — many  people  have  cousins;  this  cousin, 
Richard  Ambler,  a practical  Ambler,  an  unimaginative 
Ambler,  was  a solicitor.  Richard  Ambler,  therefore,  on 


38 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE, 


being  asked  by  the  child’s  relations — they  were  unnatural 
relations,  descended  by  the  parent’s  side  from  a certain 
illustrious  uncle  of  two — who  wanted  to  put  the  burden 
of  the  little  girl  on  somebody  else’s  shoulders,  and  to  find 
a home  and  a guardian  for  a child  whom  nobody  wanted, 
naturally  considered  first  of  all  which  of  his  own  friends 
would  find  the  money  most  useful,  and  seeing  that  among 
all  his  friends  and  cousins  no  one  was  so  perfectly  hope- 
less, impecunious,  and  unpractical  as  Reginald  the  Dis- 
coverer, and  few  so  poor,  sent  her  to  him;  not  for  any 
fitness  or  special  aptitude  which  Reginald  possessed  for 
the  task  of  guardian,  but  wholly  and  solely  that  the  child’s 
money,  which  now  amounted  to  a hundred  and  eighty 
pounds  a year — house  property  having  gone  up — might  be 
paid  yearly  to  Reginald  for  the  good  of  himself  and  his 
household.  They  were  kind-hearted  people,  and  as  Milly 
was  a willing,  clever  kind  of  child,  they  were  easily,  though 
gradually,  persuaded  to  let  her  become  governess,  nurse, 
assistant-housekeeper,  maker  of  puddings  and  pies,  mil- 
liner, dressmaker,  chaplain,  adviser,  counselor,  and  eldest 
sister  to  the  family.  “And,  oh,  my  dear,”  said  Mrs. 
Ambler,  when  Milly’s  engagement  began,  “ what  we  should 
have  done  without  you  nobody  knows;  and  what  we  are 
going  to  do  without  you  nobody  can  tell.” 

Milly’s  life  was  so  busy  that  she  never  understood  how 
dull  it  would  seem  to  any  one  outside  the  house,  for  there 
were  in  it  no  amusements,  no  sights,  no  theater,  no  con- 
certs, no  opera,  no  pictures,  and  even  very  few  novels;  nor 
perceived  that  she  ought  to  have  been  treated  differently, 
nor  comprehended  that  her  guardian  was  regarded  by 
everybody  as  a lunatic  with  a harmless  craze;  nor  knew  or 
suspected  that  there  were  any  enjoyments  to  be  had  in  life 
other  than  those  within  her  reach,  namely,  the  children 
in  good  temper  and  looking  nice,  the  Sunday  church,  a 
summer  evening  walk,  and  the  daily  cup  of  tea.  She  was, 
however,  distinguished  above  all  her  contemporaries  of 
Clapton  Common  by  the  possession  of  a romantic  history. 
She  was  the  daughter  of  a man  who  had  made  a most 
Glorious  Fortune.  Everybody  knew  so  much.  Nobody 
knew  what  the  Fortune  actually  was,  either  in  amount  or 
in  form,  whether  it  was  silver,  oil,  hogs,  or  railways; 
whether  it  had  been  acquired  by  rings  and  corners,  by 
bulling  and  bearing,  by  lying,  treachery,  and  deceit,  by 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  39 

contracts,  by  plunder  and  pillage  of  the  public  money,  or 
in  any  of  the  many  ways  in  which  many  tempt  fortune 
and  a few  succeed,  winning  thereby  the  universal  respect 
of  their  fellow-creatures.  Mr.  Montoro — no  one  ever  spoke 
of  him  without  the  honorable  prefix — had  been  once  a 
clerk  in  the  City.  Somewhere  about  twenty  years  ago  he 
threw  up  his  place  and  went  away  to  seek  his  Fortune. 
And  he  found  it.  Matter  of  common  knowledge  that  he 
found  it;  that  he  had  sent  none  of  it  home  was  also  known; 
and  that  for  four  or  five  years  his  daughter  had  heard 
nothing  from  him,  whence  it  might  be  concluded  that  he 
was  dead.  And  the  great  Fortune — where  was  that?  Why, 
the  United  States  of  America  being  so  big,  one  might  as 
well  look  for  a lost  needle  in  Hyde  Park  as  for  a lost  fortune 
in  a country  popularly  believed  to  consist  entirely  of  men 
who  have  made  enormous  fortunes.  No  doubt  it  was  lying 
somewhere  packed  up,  and  would  be  lost  for  want  of  some- 
one to  claim  it.  So  that  Millv  was  not  regarded  as  an 
heiress  so  much  as  the  daughter  of  a man  who  had  dis- 
tinguished himself.  But  still  there  was  always  the  chance 
that  her  father  might  turn  up,  his  Fortune  in  his  hand. 
The  thought  that  her  father  might  be  still  alive  and  might 
yet  return  never  left  the  girl.  She  had  his  letters  in  her 
desk,  which  she  read  until  she  knew  them  by  heart,  both 
those  to  her  mother  and  those  to  herself.  The  former 
were  curiously  cold  and  constrained.  He  was  prospering 
exceedingly,  but  he  did  not  explain  how.  He  was  richer 
already  than  any  of  the  people  they  had  known  at  home; 
he  was  waiting  an  opportunity  to  realize  some  of  his  gains 
and  enable  her  to  keep  her  carriage;  and  so  on.  To  her- 
self the  letters  were  full  of  affection  and  tenderness,  speak- 
ing of  a time  when  he  would  either  go  home  or  have  his 
daughter  with  him.  He  spoke  of  his  continued  success, 
but  without  the  least  hint  of  his  occupation,  and  his  ad- 
dress was  always  changing;  so  that  whatever  it  was,  his 
work  took  him  from  one  State  to  another. 

The  girl  constructed  her  ideal  father  from  the  letters. 
He  must  be  a gentle  and  quiet  creature  because  her  mother 
had  always  spoken  of  him  as  a peaceful  man  who  gave  no 
offense  to  any,  and  loved  tranquillity;  yet  he  must  be  a 
man  of  great  courage  thus  to  have  forced  his  way  to  the 
front,  in  a strange  country,  with  no  friends  to  help  him. 
He  must  be  a man  of  fine  manner  and  noble  mind,  be- 


N 


40 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


cause  bis  letters  were  full  of  the  most  admirable  senti- 
ments, and  he  must  be  a father  whom  any  girl  would  be 
too  ready  to  love,  so  full  of  tenderness  was  he  himself. 
The  letters  which  this  poor  English  waif  and  stray  wrote 
twice  or  three  times  every  year  to  his  daughter  were  in 
fact  to  him,  though  they  were  loaded  with  falsehoods,  the 
ono  thing  which  kept  up  his  soul.  He  consorted  with 
gangs  of  the  roughest;  his  work  was  the  lowest;  yet  he  had 
to  console  him  the  letters  of  his  child,  fresh,  innocent, 
confiding;  and  he  had,  to  lift  himself  out  of  the  mire,  to 
make  up  in  reply  some  answer  which  should  make  the 
girl  happy  about  him;  and  in  order  to  do  that  he  was 
forced  to  imagine  himself  back  in  civilized  life,  a gentle- 
man. If  you  come  to  think  of  it,  there  wants  a good  deal 
of  imagination  for  an  unsuccessful  emigrant,  sunk  as  low 
as  can  well  be,  to  make  people  at  home  believe  that  he  is 
rolling  in  prosperity.  It  grew  harder  every  year  for  the 
poor  man,  but  still  he  persevered,  until  he  fell  in  with  his 
great  stroke  of  luck,  and  became  a landowner  in  Oregon. 
Then,  his  life  being  now  easy,  and  even  assured,  and  the 
whisky-bottle  always  handy,  his  brain  began  to  deterio- 
rate, and  he  wrote  no  more  letters.  While  he  was  a 
vagrant  journeyman,  ready  to  do  anything,  he  would 
imagine,  conceive,  and  describe.  The  moment  he  became 
settled,  the  fountain  of  fancy  dried  up,  and  he  could  pict- 
ure no  more.  Therefore,  the  drop  being  too  great  from 
a millionaire  to  a settler  in  a half-cleared  plot  of  forest- 
ground,  with  a log-hut  and  a couple  of  blankets,  he  ceased 
to  send  any  more  letters.  He  was  one  of  those  who  have 
been  ruined  by  prosperity.  Had  he  still  continued  one  of 
a plow-gang,  or  a herdsman,  or  a hand  on  a steamer,  or  a 
picker-up  of  odd  jobs,  his  daughter  would  have  continued 
to  receive  those  letters  which  for  so  many  years  had  been 
the  chief  happiness  of  her  life. 

But  he  would  come  home  some  day,  she  said — he  would 
come  home. 

Thus  she  grew  up  a sweet  and  natural  girl,  careless  of 
her  own  beauty,  because  she  was  always  thinking  about 
the  children,  till  she  was  past  nineteen  years  of  age,  and 
then  love  came  to  her  in  the  shape  of  a brave  young  fel- 
low— strong,  ambitious,  obstinately  resolved  to  get  on, 
and  quite  certain  to  expect  of  her  in  return  as  much  as 
he  would  give  to  her.  Then,  the  practical  business  of 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


41 


life  thus  suddenly  opened  out  before  her,  she  left  off 
dreaming  about  her  father,  finding  henceforth  no  room 
for  anyone  in  her  dreams  except  her  sweetheni  t.  To  be 
sure,  she  had  known  him  ever  since  she  had  joined  the 
Ambler  household,  because  he  was  a cousin  of  Reginald 
Ambler;  but  then  to  see  a young  fellow  occasionally  in 
the  house,  and  to  be  wooed  by  him,  are  very  different 
things.  And  how  that  love  gradually  came  about,  I am 
not  going  to  tell,  because  it  is  so  simple  a process  that 
all  the  world  may  imagine  it.  Besides,  as  the  princess 
said  to  the  one-eyed  Calendar,  “ This  is  not  a common 
love-story.” 

Now,  on  this  evening,  the  supper  was,  as  has  been  in- 
dicated, a meal  of  unusually  cheerful  character,  not  on 
account  of  George’s  presence,  because  he  was  there  nearly 
every  evening,  but  for  certain  unknown  and  inscrutable 
reasons  which  act  upon  the  family  atmosphere,  and  can 
only  be  judged  by  their  effects,  and  make  it,  in  fact,  like 
the  climate  of  this  country,  variable — sometimes  cloudy, 
sometimes  misty,  and  always  impossible  to  be  foretold. 
Everyone  who  belongs  to  a large  family  must  know  the 
uncertainty  of  the  general  temper,  however  that  of  the 
individual  (meaning  oneself)  may  be  depended  upon.  This 
evening  the  dining-room  of  Veritas  Villa  seemed  a little 
heaven  of  cheerfulness.  Even  the  two  elder  boys — 
Kepler,  who  was  eighteen,  and  Tycho,  who  was  sixteen— 
listened  to  their  father  without  open  scorn  or  impatience, 
though  they  had  the  firmest  belief  that  his  talk  was  un- 
mitigated nonsense.  If  anyone  had  held  a curved  hand 
to  his  ear  he  would  probably  have  heard  distinctly  a kind 
of  purr  of  satisfaction  and  content.  Perhaps  on  a really 
fine  evening  in  June,  when  it  is  light  at  nine  o’clock, 
and  the  windows  can  be  kept  open,  and  the  roses  are 
already  in  blossom,  everyone  ought  to  be  in  a good 
temper.  But  then  fine  weather  does  not  always  make 
fine  tempers. 

“I  have  never,”  the  Discoverer  went  on — he  had  been 
talking  ever  since  the  last  remark  of  his,  quoted  a few  col- 
umns back,  but  we  had  other  things  to  talk  about  and 
have  not  followed  him — “I  have  never,”  he  was  saying, 
“ thought  less  of  a man  for  being  wrong,  so  long  as  his 
mind  is  open  to  truth,  and  he  has  the  courage  of  his  opin- 
ions. Thus,  I have  named  the  children  after  those  who 


12 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


were  my  forerunners,  though  they  did  not,  it  is  true, 
prepare  the  way  for  my  discoveries,  but  quite  to  the  con- 
trary. Ptolemy,  Kepler,  Tycho  Brahe,  Galileo,  Coperni- 
cus, are  names  which  will  always  be  held  in  honor,  long, 
long  after  that  of  Reginald  Ambler  has  been  elevated  to 
the  highest  place  in  the  roll  of  honor.  This,  my  children, 
may  not  be  till  after  I am  dead  and  gone;  yet  it  will  come 
in  the  lifetime  of  some  among  you.  I say  no  more,  but 
that  three  letters  of  inquiry  have  been  received  at  the 
Society’s  offices  this  week.  Already  the  cause  spreads 
rapidly;  bwt  nothing,  nothing  to  the  wildfire  speed  with 
which  it  will  be  taken  up  when  once  the  people  have  been 
allowed  to  see  and  judge  for  themselves.” 

He  drank  off  a whole  glass  of  beer,  paused,  meditated 
for  a few  moments,  with  his  finger  to  his  forehead,  pushed 
back  his  hair,  and  was  about  to  proceed,  when  there  were 
sounds  of  wheels  in  the  road,  and  a ring  at  the  bell  of  the 
outer  gate.  And  this  was  so  rare  an  event — indeed  an 
event  hitherto  unheard  of — that  everybody  jumped  in  his 
chair  and  looked  at  each  other.” 

“It  is  perhaps  another  anxious  inquirer,”  said  the  phi- 
losopher. “ Can  one  of  the  Cambridge  professors  be  go- 
ing to  accept  the  challenge?” 

“ It  is  the  Parcels  Delivery  Company,”  said  Kepler. 

“It  is  Milly’s  great  Fortune,”  said  Copernica,  “com- 
ing home  from  America  in  a box.” 

“It  is ” began  another,  but  stopped,  because  the  door 

opened  and  the  servant — they  had  but  one — put  in  her 
head. 

“Please,  m’m,”  she  said,  “there’s  a gentleman  wants 
to  see  Miss  Milly.” 

They  looked  at  each  other  in  something  like  consterna- 
tion. A gentleman  wanting  Milly!  What  gentleman? 
Who  could  it  be? 

Milly  turned  very  pale,  and  took  George’s  hand. 

“ Come  with  me,  George,”  she  said. 

“If  it  is — if  it  is ” Mrs.  Ambler  could  not  say 

“your  father.”  “Whoever  it  is,  I think,  Reginald,  as 
Millv^s  guardian,  you  or  both  of  us  ought  to  go  with  her 
too.” 

“ Certainly,”  said  Mr.  Ambler.  “ Shall  we  show  him 
into  the  map-room?  The  contemplation  of  the  charts 
may  lead  him  round — — ” 


43 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 

“He  shall  come  in  here/’  said  the  mother,  looking 
round.  “ Whoever  it  is,  lie  shall  see  Milly  in  the  ordi- 
nary way,  with  the  children  round  her,  bless  her!  Kep- 
ler, my  dear,  ask  the  gentleman  to  come  in.” 

It  was  now  nearly  ten.  Outside  it  was  still  twilight, 
but  in  the  room  there  was  a pleasant  obscurity.  Milly 
stood  at  the  table,  her  back  to  the  window,  George  beside 
her,  holding  her  hand.  Everybody  had  risen  in  expecta- 
tion. The  tears  were  already  in  Copernica’s  eyes,  and 
making  her  spectacles  dim  out  of  pure  sympathy.  The 
family  atmosphere  was  changed.  Calm  and  serenity  were 
vanished;  in  their  place  the  beating  heart,  the  quickened 
pulse,  the  agitation  and  oppression  which  fill  the  mind 
before  a thunderstorm. 

Then  the  “gentleman”  came  into  the  room.  In  the 
dim  twilight  Milly  saw  a tall  figure  in  the  doorway. 

“Is  there  here,”  he  said,  “a  young  lady  named  Milly 
Montoro?” 

“I  am  her  guardian,”  replied  Mr.  Ambler.  “My 
name  is  Reginald  Ambler.  I am,  as  you  may  be  aware, 
the  Discoverer,  under  Providence,  of  the  true  astronomy. 
Miss  Montoro  is  here.  Have  you  any  message  or  parcel, 
or — or  anything  for  her?” 

“If  you  will  light  your  gas,”  said  the  stranger,  “I  will 
tell  you.” 

One  of  the  boys  lit  the  burners.  They  saw  now  a gen- 
tleman with  a heavy  brown  mustache,  no  beard  or  whis- 
kers, strongly  marked  features,  and  eyes  very  keen,  hard, 
and  bright.  He  was  well  dressed,  and  looked  as  if  he 
was,  in  City  language,  a substantial,  or  “warm”  man, 
yet  not  in  the  least  like  any  City  man  they  had  ever  en- 
countered. He  looked  round  the  room,  resting  his  eye 
first  for  a moment  on  Copernica,  but,  as  if  dissatisfied 
with  the  spectacles,  he  turned  to  Milly.  Then  he  stepped 
forward  and  held  out  his  hand,  saying  coldly,  “I  sup- 
pose you  are  my  daughter!” 

She  sprang  forward,  and  fell  into  his  arms  with  a cry 
of  surprise  and  joy.  Her  father  at  last! 

Her  father!  Then  her  Fortune  had  come  home.  The 
boys  looked  straight  before  them,  with  tightness  in  their 
throats.  Copernica  wept  silently;  the  mother  wept  loud- 
ly. Only  George  seemed  discontented. 

“My  daughter,”  the  stranger  repeated  coldly,  and  dis- 


44 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


engaging  himself  from  her  arms  without  so  much  as  kiss- 
ing her.  “ Yes,  it  is  natural  after  all  these  years.  I sup- 
pose I might  have  expected  to  be  hugged.  That  will  do, 
Milly.  I suppose  I must  call  you  Milly.  Of  course.  I 
was  hardly  prepared,  I must  own,  Mr.  Ab — Ambler,  for 
such  a — in  fact  I could  not  have  believed  that  you  were 
so  well -grown  a girl.  However — yes,  my  dear,  it  is  your 
father.  You  did  not  expect  to  see  me,  perhaps?” 

“ You  have  been  silent  for  four  long  years,”  she  replied. 
“ How  could  I ” 

“True,  true;  we  will  talk  of  that  another  time.  You 
have  been  living  here,  I suppose.  And  this  is  Mr.  Am- 
bler; and — ah!— Mrs.  Ambler;  and— ah! — the  family  Am- 
blers.” 

“These,”  said  Milly,  “are  the  kind  friends,  and  the 
boys  and  girls  I have  told  you  of  in  my  letters  so  often.” 

“ You  have,  my — my  dear.”  Strange  that  the  adjective 
should  seem  so  hard  to  say.  “ You  certainly  have.  Your 
letters  are  all  in  my  pocket  at  this  moment.  They  have 
never  left  me,  I assure  you.” 

“Oh,  father!” 

“Never,  my — ahem! — my  dear.  I have  read  some  of 
them — ahem! — more  than  once.” 

Between  having  letters  always  in  your  pocket  and  read- 
ing them  more  than  once  there  seems  a wide  gap. 

Milly’s  eyes  dropped. 

“ Well,  my  daughter?”  He  hesitated  and  looked  round. 
“ As  it  is  evening,  and  a little  late,  and  I have  to  get  back  to 
the  West  End,  and — and — is  there  anything  you  wish  to  say 
before  I go?  Of  course  we  shall  meet  again  to-morrow  or 
next  day,  or — or — in  fact,  you  will  study  your  own  con- 
venience. As  regards  future  arrangements,  I do  not 
suppose  that  I shall  go  back  to  America  for  a few  weeks; 
but  of  that  we  can  speak  afterward.  So,  for  the  pres- 
ent  ” 

“ Stay,  father,  one  moment!”  The  girl  took  George’s 
hand,  while  the  rest  looked  at  each  other  bewildered. 
Was  this  the  kind  of  meeting  one  would  dream  of  between 
father  and  daughter  after  twenty  years’  separation? 
“This,”  said  Milly,  “ is  George  Ambrose,  my  lover.  We 
are  going  to  be  married.” 

Mr.  Montoro  slowly  put  up  a pair  of  eye-glasses,  and 
looked  at  George  from  head  to  foot. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


45 


“Not  so  fast/’  he  said,  not  so  fast.  You  have  a father, 

whose  permission May  I ask  you,  sir,  what  is  your 

profession  ?” 

“ Iam  at  present  a clerk  in  a chemical  works,”  said 
George,  hot  and  red. 

“A  clerk — a mere  clerk!  My — ahem! — my  daughter, 
we  will  speak  of  this  afterward.” 

“ You  were  a clerk  yourself  once,”  said  George  in  a 
quiet  rage,  while  the  two  elder  boys  murmured,  because 
they  too  were  clerks. 

“What  the  devil  do  you  mean  by  that?”  asked  Mr. 
Montoro  fiercelv.  “ How  dare  you  sav  that  I was  once  a 
clerk?” 

“ If  you  are  ashamed  of  it.”  said  George,  “I  shall  cer- 
tainly not  remind  you  of  the  fact  again.  I am  not 
ashamed  of  beginning  as  a clerk.  Perhaps  I shall  rise  out 
of  it.” 

Here  was  a pretty  beginning.  Milly  looked  in  con- 
sternation from  her  father  to  her  lover.  Why  did  her 
father  fall  into  such  sudden  and  violent  wrath?  Every- 
body knew  he  had  been  a clerk,  and  had  gone  away  and 
made  his  Fortune.  However,  he  recovered  as  quickly, 
and  deigning  no  further  reply  to  the  unlucky  lover  turned 
to  his  daughter. 

“ We  will  talk,  Milly,”  he  said  with  a coldness  of  voice 
which  fell  upon  her  heart  like  ice — “ we  will  talk  of  these 
things  another  time.  Meantime  I have  found  out  where 
you  live,  which  is  a disgusting  distance  from  anywhere. 
1 shall  probably  call  here  again  to-morrow  afternoon. 
M ean  time — ah ! — good  - n i gh  t.  ” 

He  gave  her  his  hand  without  offering  to  kiss  her,  and 
retired  without  another  word. 

Mr.  Ambler  had  the  presence  of  mind  to  follow  him 
and  catch  him  by  the  arm. 

“ Pardon  me,  sir,  one  word,  if  only  to  satisfy  the  neigh- 
bors. Your  Glorious  Fortune,  of  which  we  have  heard 
so  much,  is  it — is  it  safe?  Is  all  well  with  it?” 

“ Quite  safe,”  Mr.  Montoro  replied.  “It  is,”  he  added 
with  a grin,  “ just  exactly  as  safe  as  it  always  has  been — 
on  as  sound  a basis,  and  as  gigantic.  I thought  you  would 
want  to  know  first  thing  about  the  Fortune.  And  as  to 
neighbors,  be  good  enough  to  tell  them  that  I don’t  want 
to  know  ’em,  and  I won’t  know  ’em,  and  I won’t  see  ’em. 


46 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


What  I am  going  to  do  about  Milly  I cannot  just  yet  tell 
you;  perhaps  I have  not  made  up  my  mind.  But  hark 

ye,  Mr.  Addlepato,  or  whatever  your  name  is ” 

“ Ambler,  sir — Reginald  Ambler,  the  Discoverer  of— — ” 
“Remember,  I will  have  no  neighbors  here,  lei  haps 
I may  have  been  a clerk  myself  in  the  old  days.  Perhaps 
I am  not  too  anxious  to  have  them  recalled.  Keep  them 
out  of  my  way,  do  you  hear?” 

He  opened  the  door,  walked  noisily  down  the  gravel, 
got  into  his  cab,  and  drove  away. 

“ Oh,  good  gracious!”  cried  Mrs.  Ambler.  “My  poor 
—poor  child!  Did  anyone  ever  hear  or  see  such  a thing?” 
“ Oh,  poor  Milly!”  said  Copernica,  kissing  he*  until 
the  spectacles  scratched  her  cheek. 

“ But  the  letters  he  used  to  write!”  said  Milly.  “ I can 
not  understand  it.  What  has  changed  him?  Not  one 
kind  word!  and  the  letters  so  full  of  sweet  things!  And 
— oh,  George!” 

“ Never  mind  me,  dear,”  said  George  hoarsely. 

“ But  I must  mind  you.  You  are  to  come  first,  not 
my  father.  He  must  not  upset  my  life.  Yes,  I know 
about  the  fifth  commandment,  but  that  can’t  be  meant 
for  fathers  who  stay  away  twenty  years.”  She  looked 
determined.  “Go  now,  George,  it  is  getting  late.  Go, 
dear,  and  trust  me.”- 

“ I wish,”  said  Mr.  Ambler,  “Ido  wish  that  he  had 
been  shown  first  into  the  map-room.  If  he  had  under- 
stood, even  a little,  under  what  a roof  his  daughter  had 
been  brought  up,  he  would  have  approached  the  question 
of— of  George — with  a little  more  feeling.  I say  nothing 
about  the  Truth.  That  may,  or  may  not,  come  after- 
ward. He  looked  as  if  he  might  become  an  Inquirer! 
But  we  should  have  impressed  him  first.  We  did  wrong. 
We  should  have  impressed  him  first  of  all,  with  the  maps, 
the  charts,  and  the  working  models. 


CHAPTER  IV. 

A WARM  WELCOME. 

An  interval  of  fifteen  ytars  for  moral  refreshment  is  a 
good  spell.  Unfortunately,  whether  the  time  be  passed 
in  the  neighborhood  of  Weymouth  or  on  Dartmoor,  or  in 
the  new  world,  the  patient,  on  his  return  to  society, 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


47  ■ 

generally  finds  that  his  finer  qualities,  to  remember  which 
has  probably  been  his  chief  comfort  in  exile,  are  all  clean 
forgotten,  and  only  those  little  episodes  which  necessitated 
his  departure  are  now  remembered. 

The  extraordinary  vitality  of  disagreeable  things  has 
never  yet  been  treated  seriously.  A man  shall  be  your 
most  delightful  companion  for  years,  your  bosom  friend 
and  confidant;  he  then,  perhaps,  forges  your  name — only 
once;  steals  your  money — is  only  found  out  once;  cheats 
at  cards — and  is  only  once  detected;  embezzles  his  em- 
ployer’s money— but  is  only  once  discovered,  and  there- 
fore is  compelled  to  seek  retirement  for  a while.  On  his 
return  it  is  excessively  annoying  to  find  that  nothing  is 
remembered  except  the  misfortune  which  separated  him 
from  his  friends. 

In  a better  state  of  things  the  patient  will  be  welcomed 
back  as  one  who  has  been  suffering  from  some  brain  dis- 
order, the  treatment  of  which  is  understood.  He  will  be 
considered  perfectly  recovered,  and  be  even  ostentatiously 
trusted  with  checks  payable  to  order,  bags  of  gold,  and 
heaps  of  postal  orders;  he  will  be  invited  to  play  cards  in 
the  most  highly  moral  circles;  he  will  be  begged  to  take 
care  of  money  belonging  to  the  church,  or  the  neediest 
widow,  or  the  most  helpless  orphans,  and  in  every  way  be 
made  to  feel  that  his  disease  was  completely  cured. 

This,  I am  sorry  to  say,  was  not  the  treatment  received  by 
the  Colonel  on  his  return  to  England,  which  followed  very 
shortly  after  his  departure  from  Oregon.  He  was  in  a 
somewhat  delicate  position,  because  he  was  unable  to 
know  how  far  the  reasons  of  his  exile  were  understood  by 
his  old  associates.  Now,  if  a man  simply  disappears  and 
remains  a “vanished  hand”  for  a period  of  years,  society 
has  certainly  no  right  to  question  that  man’s  own  version 
of  his  story,  or  to  entertain  injurious  suspicions,  or  to 
spread  malicious  reports.  There  are  many  instances  on 
record  of  such  re- appearances,  and  I have  never  heard 
that  the  adventures  related  by  the  man  supposed  to  have 
gone  under  for  good  have  been  seriously  doubted,  whether 
he  declares  that  he  was  wrecked  on  a desert  island,  married 
to  an  Amazon  in  the  heart  of  the  Dark  Continent,  carried 
off  by  friendly  gorillas,  or  compelled  to  wander  among 
Patagonians,  Guachos,  and  Aztecs.  But  things  are  differ- 
ent where  nasty  stories  survive,  as  the  Colonel  experienced. 


48 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


His  name,  while  he  was  yet  in  English  society,  was  Per- 
cival  Brooke  West;  he  was  a gentleman  by  birth,  and  the 
only  son  of  his  mother,  who  was  a widow.  By  what  ex- 
travagances, selfish  indulgences,  wanton  wastings,  profli- 
gacies, and  prodigal-son  business,  he  ran  through  his 
patrimony;  hardened  his  heart;  deadened  his  conscience; 
lost  his  taste  for  any  pleasures  which  were  not  highly 
flavored,  peppered,  and  cabob-curried;  destroyed  the  sense 
of  honor,  and  converted  himself  into  a man-eating  tiger, 
it  needs  not  here  to  relate,  nor  need  we  here  even  indicate 
the  path  by  which  a plunging  youth  becomes  a profligate 
and  ruined  man.  Nor  need  we  pause  to  tell  the  story  of 
what  he  did.  He  “did  something”  many  times,  but  at 
the  last  he  was  discovered.  And  then  he  retired — disap- 
peared, became  the  “vanished  hand”  at  the  card-table, 
and  the  “voice  that  is  still”  in  the  smoking-room.  The 
world  went  on  without  him,  and,  for  fifteen  years,  the 
racecourse,  the  club,  the  streets  of  the  West  End  knew 
him  no  longer,  and  without  him  the  old  game  went  on 
merrily — the  young  fellows  on  the  “ unlimited  chuck,” 
the  hawks  hovering  over  the  pigeons,  and  ever  and  anon 
another  young  fellow  “doing  something”  and  speedily 
disappearing. 

Then  he  returned. 

Before  Mr.  Percival  Brooke  West  showed  himself  in  the 
old  haunts — before,  in  fact,  he  took  passage  from  New 
York,  he  cut  off  his  beard,  dyed  his  hair  and  mustache 
brown,  and  dressed  himself  in  raiment  as  youthful  as  a 
man  near  fifty,  who  wishes  to  pasj  for  five-and-thirty,  can 
venture  upon.  He  took  up  his  quarters  in  a good  Bond 
Street  hotel,  and  he  then  considered  which  of  his  old 
friends  he  should  first  attempt.  Naturally  he  chose  the 
ones  who  had  been  in  the  same  “swim”  with  himself — 
that  plunging,  headlong,  exhilarating  swim  down  the 
rapids,  with  the  beautiful  whirlpool  at  the  end,  reported 
to  have  sucked  many  a stout  swimmer  beneath  its  boiling 
waters.  Had  not  he  himself ? 

He  remembered  seven  or  eight  of  the  old  set  and  sat 
down  to  write  to  them.  The  letters  were  really  models. 
No  polite  letter-writer  could  have  taught  him  more  art- 
fully to  convey  the  strength  and  enduring  warmth  of  his 
old  friendship,  his  own  joy  at  his  return,  and  his  eager 
looking  forward  to  another  meeting.  He  also  contrived 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


49 


to  let  it  be  understood  that  bis  financial  position  was  ex- 
traordinarily sound,  and  that  feasting  would  come  into 
fashion  again. 

He  forgot  that  in  fifteen  years  such  a set  as  his  would 
most  certainly  have  fallen  all  to  pieces — first  because  the 
pace  could  not  continue,  and  secondly  because  many  of 
the  men,  younger  than  himself,  would  leave  it  in  order  to 
enter  seriously  upon  the  pursuit  of  the  career.  There  are 
really  very  few  who  continue  in  the  resolute  pursuit  of 
pleasure  until  past  middle  life,  even  though  the  ashes  of 
the  Head  Sea  apples  have  got  into  their  throats  and  made 
them  cough  and  choke. 

The  letters  dispatched,  he  walked  about  the  street! 
waiting  for  answers.  The  dear  old  streets.  Heave  ns* 
How  delightful  to  be  back  again  among  them,  eveu  with 
so  moderate  a sum  as  eight  hundred  pounds  to  spend! 
But  it  would  be  enough,  perhaps,  to  procure  him  readmis- 
sion  into  the  old  circles,  with  such  share  in  the  riot  of  tha 
'Fool’s  Paradise  as  a man  of  fifty  may  look  for. 

After  two  days  he  got  one  answer — the  first  and  the 
only  one.  It  was  from  a dear  and  old  friend,  and  a fol- 
lower of  his  own  way  of  thinking.  The  writer  said  that 
he  rejoiced  to  receive  so  friendly  a letter,  because  he  had 
long  thought  he  had  no  friends  left  at  all;  that  he  had 
been  for  a good  while  quite  down  on  his  luck,  and  was 
now  stone  broke.  But  that  he  had  a wife  and  family  to 
support,  and  in  these  his  wretched  and  impoverished  cir- 
cumstances, he  knew  not  where  to  look  even  for  food  for 
them;  chat  he  was  ill,  moreover,  and  like  to  die — with  a 
good  deal  more  to  the  same  effect,  concluding  with  the 
remark  that  they  had  both  had  misfortunes  of  the  same 
kind,  and  ought  to  feel  for  each  other.  (“  What  the  deuce 
does  he  mean?”  asked  the  reader.)  Wherefore  a temporary 
advance  would  be  most  thankfully  accepted,  and  a reply 
to  this  note  would  be  expected  with  the  fullest  confidence 
and  hope. 

I am  obliged  to  own  that  Mr.  Brooke  West  tore  this  let- 
ter up  in  a rage. 

“Confound  the  fellow!  What  did  he  mean  by  the 
‘same  misfortune’?  Stone  broke,  was  he?  Let  him 
starve!” 

But  thei#  cam.e  no  more  answers  to  his  letters.  There- 


50 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


fore  he  resolved  upon  calling  on  his  old  friends,  though 
with  some  misgivings. 

“ * The  same  misfortune.’  What  did  the  impudent 
beggar  and  pauper  mean?” 

One  of  the  old  set  was  a partner  in  a City  house;  an- 
other was  a barrister;  a third,  a fourth,  and  a fifth  had 
once  been  officers  in  the  army,  and  so  on.  He  W'ould 
call.  He  would  find  out  if  they  intended  to  be  nasty 
about  a thing  now  fifteen  years  old,  if,  indeed,  they  knew 
of  it. 

The  results  of  his  visits  illustrated  in  a very  surprising 
manner  the  tendency  which  I have  already  deplored. 
That  is  to  say,  no  one  was  in  the  least  disposed  to  forget 
that  thing,  which  they  knew  perfectly  well,  and  coupled 
with  his  memory  as  indelibly  as  the  sailor  associates  an 
anchor  with  the  skin  of  his  arm.  And  yet  remark  that 
he,  the  man  chiefly  concerned,  was  as  willing  to  bury  it, 
and  have  done  with  it,  as  the  Red  Indians  are,  in  time  of 
peace,  to  bury  a tomahawk! 

I have  often  wondered  if  that  tomahawk  was  always  ex- 
pended in  the  funeral  service,  or  whether  it  was  sometimes 
dug  up  by  a Resurrection  brave  and  traded  away  for  what 
it  would  fetch  in  whiskey. 

It  is  a dreadful  story  of  outrage  and  humiliation. 

First,  Mr.  Brooke  West  went  to  call  upon  his  old  friend 
the  partner  in  the  City  house.  No  one  in  his  younger 
days  had  carried  on  the  game  with  greater  eagerness  than 
the  frolicsome  young  merchant  adventurer.  Surely  this 
man,  at  least,  would  be  glad  to  welcome  his  old  friend. 

Was  he  glad?  Not  at  all.  On  the  contrary  it  appeared 
that  he  was  very  sorry.  When  he  got  Mr.  Brooke  West’s 
card,  which  was  sent  in  to  him,  this  merchant,  no  longer 
frolicsome,  but  now  quite  sober  and  dignified,  turned  very 
red  in  the  cheeks — they  were  most  respectable  cheeks 
now,  as  ready  to  blush  at  wickedness  as  the  cheek  of  the 
young  person,  and  regularly  seen  every  Sunday  at  church 
— said  strong  things  about  the  unqualified  impudence  of 
disgraced  swindlers,  and  sent  oiit  word  that  if  the  caller 
and  owner  of  the  card  did  not  instantly  leave  that  office, 
he  was  without  delay  to  be  driven  and  kicked  down  the. 
stairs  by  the  united  efforts  of  the  clerks. 

Mr.  Brooke  West  received  this  message,  delivered  in  its 
mtegnty,  without  making  any  reply  or  attempt  at  justi- 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


51 


fication.  For  a moment  his  eyes  flashed  and  he  clinched 
his  fists,  so  that  the  clerk,  who  glibly  delivered  the  reply, 
quailed  and  turned  pale.  Then,  without  a word,  he 
walked  away.  It  is  the  worst  of  such  a situation  that  a 
man  cannot  afford  the  luxury  of  a row,  else  he  would 
have  gone  for  that  irreproachable  merchant. 

Next  he  went,  but  with  much  less  confidence,  to  call 
upon  another  old  pal,  a barrister  in  the  Temple.  He  was 
a man  who  had  got  on  in  his  profession,  thought  of  tak- 
ing silk,  gambled  no  more,  had  forgotten  the  ways  of  in- 
iquity and  its  wages,  was  married  and  lived  on  Campden 
Hill,  and  the  memory  of  his  younger  days,  when  it  came 
back  to  him,  was  no  longer  a thing  he  loved  to  dwell 
upon. 

He,  too,  on  receiving  the  card,  jumped  in  his  chair, 
used  strong  words,  tore  up  the  card,  and  sent  an  insulting 
message  that  he  had  nothing  whatever  to  say  to  Mr. 
Brooke  West,  and  refused  to  see  him. 

Again  the  Colonel  walked  away  without  reply.  But,  I 
think  that,  had  he  got  that  respectable  merchant  and  that 
successful  lawyer  on  the  Embankment  in  the  evening, 
two  distinct  flops  or  splashes  would  have  been  presently 
heard  in  the  river;  or  had  he  met  either  of  them  on  a 
lonely  heath  after  dark  there  would  have  been  a lively 
dance,  with  steps  not  described  in  the  books. 

Next,  he  went  to  his  old  club,  where  he  found  a new 
hall-porter,  who  did  not  know  him.  First,  he  asked  for 
his  old  friend  Captain  Pacer?  Alas!  the  gallant  captain 
was  dead  this  many  a long  year.  Then  for  Major  Fauch- 
elevent,  another  of  the  glorious  band  of  revellers?  Why, 
the  major  had  left  the  club  a long  time;  had  been,  in 
fact,  expelled  from  it.  Then  he  asked  for  Colonel  Cas- 
sade?  This  member,  now  General  Cassade,  was  actually 
in  the  club  at  that  moment.  Mr.  Brooke  West  sent  up  his 
card,  and  waited  with  pale  face,  and  lips  that  trembled  a 
little.  In  two  minutes  the  general  himself  came  down 
the  stairs,  leaning  heavily  on  his  stick,  gray-haired,  red- 
faced,  gouty.  And  as  for  greeting,  friendly  smile,  hand- 
shaking, and  a cordial  welcome  home! — when  the  returned 
prodigal  held  out  his  hand,  advancing  with  a genial 
smile,  though  an  uncertain  eye,  and  said  with  hearty 
smile,  “Old  fellow!  how  goes  it?”  the  gallant  officer, 
standing  in  the  middle  of  the  hall,  banged  his  stick  on 


52 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


the  floor,  so  that  the  panes  in  the  windows  shook  for  fear, 
and  every  pair  of  tongs  jumped,  and  most  of  the  glasses 
in  the  house  fell  into  small  fragments;  and  asked  with 
purple  cheeks  and  furious  eyes,  and  a stentorian  voice, 
what  in  the  name  of  this,  and  of  that — words  which  find 
their  fittest  home  on  the  banks  of  the  silver  Thames,  and 
especially  at  Richmond,  or  beside  the  stalls  at  Billings- 
gate— what  lie  meant  by  his  confounded  impudence?  A 
fellow  who  was  expelled — actually  expelled  that  very  same 
club,  daring  to  send  up  his  impudent  card,  to  call  upon 
him,  the  general! 

“ Turn  him  out,  hall-porter,  do  you  hear?”  he  cried. 
“Turn  him  out  into  the  street!  Knock  him  down  if  he 
ventures  to  call  again!  Turn  him  out,  I say!” 

This  last  blow  left  no  room  for  hope.  That  part  of  the 
world — after  all  a very  small  one — was  closed.  As  a mat- 
ter of  fact,  Mr.  Brooke  West  did  not  know  until  then 
that  he  had  been  expelled  the  club.  He  thought  that 
perhaps  a kindly  interpretation  of  certain  fishy  transac- 
tions, which  had  led  to  his  exile,  might  have  been  laid  be- 
fore the  committee.  Well,  that  was  done;  he  must  try 
something  else.  As  for  making  a scene  or  having  a row, 
that  was  out  of  the  question.  He  changed  his  hotel;  he 
went  to  the  Langham,  where  there  are  generally  more 
Americans  than  English.  There  was  little  fear  that  any- 
body there  would  recognize  him  for  what  he  had  been  in  the 
Southern  and  Western  States.  He  was  now  the  English 
gentleman,  who  had  traveled  and  lost  some  of  the  national 
prejudice  and  reserve.  And  here  he  stayed  for  six  months 
and  more.  He  began  to  make  acquaintances,  and  pres- 
ently forced  his  way  to  certain  places  where  play— good, 
honest,  high  play — is  to  be  had,  whether  baccarat,  na- 
poleon, hazard,  monte,  euchre,  poker,  or  the  simple  rou- 
lette. He  found  there  were  still  plenty  of  hawks  about; 
and  pigeons  harder  than  ever  to  catch  and  pluck.  But  he 
did  pretty  well. 

I do  not  know  how  or  when  it  was  that  he  first  thought 
of  Montoro’s  daughter.  By  accident  he  carried  off  her 
letters  with  the  bank-notes.  Now  and  then  he  turned 
them  over  in  his  portmanteau.  “ My  dearest  Father,”  they 
began,  and  after  eight  pages  at  least  of  gossip,  they  ended, 
“ Y our  most  affectionate  and  loving  daughter,  Milly 
Montoro.”  There  was  property — she  spoke  about  “ the 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


53 


houses;”  the  poor  creature,  her  father,  had  spoken  of 
certain  houses.  Gradually  he  came  to  think  upon  this 
property  more  and  more.  It  was  almost  certainly  her 
father’s  property;  it  was  not  likely  that  it  was  settled 
upon  the  girl.  Could  not  he  get  that  property?  It  was 
a little  thing,  but  it  might  be  of  immense  service  to  him. 
And  the  thought  came  to  fill  his  brain,  as  the  thought  of 
Naboth’s  vineyard  filled  the  brain  of  Ahab.  But  there 
was  only  one  way  to  get  it;  only  one  way  to  get  that  prop- 
erty— viz.,  boldly  to  assume  the  name  of  the  man  he  had 
robbed;  to  see  as  little  as  possible  of  the  girl  and  her  rel- 
atives; and  to  sell  the  property  for  what  it  would  fetch, 
put  the  money  in  his  own  pocket,  and  go  away  with  it. 
As  for  the  girl,  she  would  find  something  to  do;  young 
people  can  always  work.  And  houses  worth  a hundred 
and  fifty  pounds  a year  can  be  sold  for  something — two 
thousand  pounds,  or  perhaps  more.  Two  thousand 
pounds!  But,  then,  to  become  a Claimant — to  assume 
another  man’s  personality! 

The  longer  he  pondered  over  this  idea  the  more  it 
pleased  him.  As  for  difficulties,  there  were,  so  far  as  he 
could  see,  few,  so  long  as  he  kept  out  of  the  way  of  Mon- 
toro’s  cousins  and  relations;  he  could  show  an  exact 
knowledge  of  the  life  led  by  the  girl  who  had  told  her 
father  everything;  he  had  her  letters;  he  knew  the 
scrambling  household,  the  enthusiast  and  visionary,  the 
sons  who  had  no  chance  at  home  and  longed  for  one 
abroad — everything.  He  knew,  or  guessed,  what  kind  of 
letters  the  man  who  had  made  so  enormous  a fortune  sent 
to  his  daughter;  they  were  vague  letters,  full  of  splendors 
and  hazy  glories,  about  which  he  could  build  any  structure 
he  pleased.  Everything  was  ready  to  his  hand,  provided 
only  there  was  no  one  to  swear  that  he  could  not  be  the 
lost  Montoro.  Here  again  he  was  helped,  though  he  ad- 
mitted to  himself  that  it  was  the  one  serious  risk.  The 
girl’s  relations  neglected  her  altogether.  They  never 
made  any  inquiry  about  her;  her  father’s  people,  who  be- 
longed to  quite  the  lower  class  of  clerks,  were  scattered 
and  dispersed,  and  too  much  occupied  with  their  own 
troubles  to  ask  what  had  become  of  Charles’s  girl;  her 
mother’s  sister,  she  who  had  married  into  “ carriage  com- 
pany,” had  gone  on  up  the  hill  of  fortune,  and  was  now, 
with  her  husband,  so  rich  that  she  had  a great  house  at 


54 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


Wimbledon,  with  more  than  one  carriage,  and  contented 
herself  with  writing  to  her  niece  once  a year  or  so.  The 
very  people  in  whose  house  she  lived  knew  nothing  of  her 
father;  nothing  was  wanted  to  carry  through  the  business 
but  swiftness  and  courage — a rush  and  a bold  front.  If, 
in  the  interval,  which  must  be  brief,  between  the  first  ap- 
pearance and  the  last,  cousins  should  offer  to  renew 
cousinly  acquaintance,  those  cousins  must  be  insulted  and 
snubbed.  The  thing  could  be  done  safely  if  it  were  done 
quickly.  And  though  it  was  impossible  to  foresee  all  the 
difficulties  which  might  arise,  he  could  provide  against 
most.  Freedom  and  skill  in  lying,  it  seemed  to  him,  were 
the  first  essentials.  And  so  far  he  was  the  equal  of  any 
living  man. 

You  have  seen  how  he  made  his  first  appearance.  It. 
was  after  dark;  if,  peradventure,  there  was  any  one  who 
might  have  known  Montoro  in  the  old  days,  then  was 
t here  time  to  prepare  that  person  for  a change  in  appear- 
ance, manner,  and  voice;  he  did  not  assume  the  manner 
of  the  affectionate  and  tender  parent;  he  could  not,  in  the 
first  place,  and  in  the  next,  it  was  better  for  his  purposes 
to  be  the  hard  and  stern  father.  He  was  astonished, 
certainly,  at  his  daughter’s  embrace,  having  forgotten  that 
girls  do  kiss  their  fathers;  but  on  the  whole  he  was  satis- 
fied. So  far  he  had  been  accepted  without  the  slightest 
suspicion. 

The  next  day  he  drove  to  Yeritas  Villa  in  the  after- 
noon. His  daughter  came  to  him,  but  on  this  occasion 
she  did  not  offer  to  throw  herself  into  his  arms;  he  held 
out  his  hand  coldly,  and  she  took  it  as  coldly,  though  she 
had  been  crying  all  the  night  over  this  disappointment  of 
a father.  Many  a woman  cries  over  a disappointing  son, 
but  few  have  to  lament  that  a father  does  not  turn  out  as 
he  had  been  expected.  Perhaps  she  had  allowed  her  im- 
agination too  much  freedom.  All  she  had  to  go  upon  were 
his  letters,  and  these  spoke  to  her  of  a writer  very  dif- 
ferent from  this  cold  man  with  the  hard  eyes. 

“Let  us  talk,”  he  said.  “There  is  a good  deal  to  say. 
Let  me  see,  Milly  is  your  name,  is  it  not?  Yes — Millv, 
to  be  sure— Milly.”  He  wondered  if  it  was  Emily,  Ame- 
lia, Millicent,  Matilda,  or  something  else.  “ It  is  strange, 
at  first,  talking  to  my  own  daughter.” 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


55 


“ You  did  not  find  it  strange  writing  to  her.” 

“No,  that  was  different.  Did  you  expect  to  find  your 
father  what  he  is?” 

“ I did  not,”  said  Milly  truthfully. 

“You  took  me  at  your  mother’s  estimate.  I believe 
she  told  you  I was  of  a meek  and  gentle  nature.  Perhaps,  in 
those  days,  I was.  If  a man  wants  to  get  on,  over  there, 
mind  you,  he  must  get  rid  of  his  meekness.  So,  that  is  the 
first  thing  I have  to  say.  Next,  I am  accustomed  to  have 
my  own  way.  Please  remember  that.  Perhaps  you  thought 
when  I came  home  you  would  have  it  all  your  way.  Not 
so  fast,  young  lady.” 

Milly  said  nothing;  but  a red  flush  on  either  cheek 
might  have  told  him,  had  he  remembered  Matilda,  that 
she  was  her  mother’s  daughter. 

“When  your  mother  died,  you  left  Hackney  Wick. 
Lord!  what  a place  to  live  in!  Where  was  it  that  you 
lived  in  Hackney  Wick?” 

“Why,”  said  the  girl,  surprised,  “in  the  old  house,  of 
course,  where  you  lived  until  you  went  away.” 

“ To  be  sure — the  old  house;  the  old  house  in  Hackney 
Wick.  And  then  you  came  here?” 

“ Mr.  Richard  Ambler,  who  managed  the  houses,  sug- 
gested his  cousin  to  my  aunt,  when  they  wanted  some  one 
to  take  care  of  me.” 

“ Richard — Richard  Ambler,”  he  stroked  his  chin. 
“Do  I remember  him?” 

“ No,  I should  think  not.  He  told  me  once  he  had 
never  seen  you.” 

“ Good.  I will  go  to  see  him  then.  Write  down  his 
address.  He  manages  the  houses,  does  he?  We  will  walk 
round  some  day  and  see  the  old  place.  Are  there  any  of 
my  old  friends  left  to  see  you  sometimes?” 

She  shook  her  head. 

“ I think  I have  never  seen  any  of  your  old  friends  or 
relations  at  all.  I do  not  know  where  they  are.” 

“Nor  do  I,”  he  said,  with  perfect  truth.  “We  shall 
not  trouble  ourselves  much  to  find  them,  that  is  very  cer- 
tain. And  your  mother’s  people?” 

“They  now  live  at  Wimbledon,  a long  way  off;  and  I 
seldom  see  my  aunt  Paulina  or  my  cousins.  I do  not 
think  anybody  cares  very  much  about  me,  except  the  An> 
biers  here.  ” 


f)6 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ Very  good/’  her  father  replied.  “They  keep  away 
from  you  so  long  as  you  are  poor,  do  they?  Then  we  will 
keep  away  from  them  now  that  we  are  rich.  As  for  me, 
remember  that  I refuse  to  see  cousins  of  this  kind.  Ab- 
solutely refuse,  mind!” 

He  looked  so  fierce — so  needlessly  fierce — that  Milly  was 
frightened.  Certainly  this  new  father  of  hers  was  not  one 
to  be  crossed. 

“ When  I went  away,”  he  said  presently,  “ when  I gave 

up  the  post  I held  in  the  firm  of What  the  devil 

now  was  the  name  of  the  people?” 

Milly  shook  her  head.  She  did  not  know. 

“ I think  the  least  you  could  have  done,”  he  replied 
angrily,  “ was  to  make  yourself  acquainted  with  the  his- 
tory of  your  own  father.  Never  mind.  What  did  you 
care  about  your  father?  When  I went  away  your  mother 
had  about  a hundred  and  fifty  pounds  a year— some 
trifle ” 

“ She  lived  upon  it,  trifle  though  you  call  it,  until  she 
died,  since  you  sent  her  nothing,  and  I have  lived  upon  it 
since,”  said  Milly  quickly. 

“Yes,  yes — I know.  What  is  it  worth  now?” 

“The  houses  are  all  let,  and  they  produce,  I believe, 
after  allowing  for  repairs,  about  a hundred  a eighty 
pounds  a year.  This  is  all  paid  to  Mr.  Ambler  for  my 
maintenance,  education,  and  dress.” 

“Avery  handsome  sum,  upon  my  word!  A hundred 
and  eighty  pounds  a year!  It  should  have  been  eighty, 
that  wrould  have  been  quite  enough,  and  the  rest  saved 
for  me.” 

“ For  you?  But  the  property  was  my  mother’s,  who  left 
it  to  me!” 

“ Did  she  make  any  will?” 

“No;  there  was  no  need.  Nobody  else  could  take  her 
property.” 

“ You  forget — her  husband.  There  were  no  settle- 
ments;” he  did  not  at  all  know  whether  there  were  any  or 
not,  but  he  assumed  that  there  were  none.  “ All  your 
mother’s  effects  were  therefore,  and  are  still,  mine.” 

His!  Milly  trembled— was  she  to  lose  her  little  proper- 
ty— the  property  which  was  going  to  do  so  much  for  the 
home  when  she  married  George? 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  57 

“Fortunately,”  she  said  timidly,  “you  are  so  rich  that 
you  do  not  want  it!” 

“ Rich!  yes;  but  no  man  refuses  money,  or  can  afford 
to  throw  it  away.  As  for  those  houses — see,  girl,”  he 
rose  and  walked  to  the  window,  “ it  is  as  well  to  under- 
stand at  once — I have  come  over  here  at  great  loss  of  time 
and  money,  leaving  enormous  affairs— affairs  of  the  very 
greatest  importance,  in  the  hands  of  people  I only  half 
trust,  for  you.  I cannot  stay  long,  there  is  nothing  for 
me  to  do  here;  I have  got  no  friends  in  England;  I am 
out  of  the  world;  and  there  is  no  getting  back  to  the  old 
life.” 

“Getting  back  to  the  old  life!”  Milly  stared  and 
gasped.  She  pretty  well  knew  what  the  old  life  was,  with 
penniless  brother-clerks  for  companions,  and  the  bar- 
parlor  for  club;  “ the  old  life!” 

“ Of  course;  when  I said'  the  old  life,  I mean  the  old 
friends.” 

“ Would  you  care  to  meet  them  again — those  old  friends 
of  yours?” 

Milly  remembered  her  mother’s  lamentations  over  the 
memory  of  those  old  friends  who  took  her  husband  from 
his  home,  led  him  into  taverns,  drank  with  him,  and 
made  him  smoke  too  much  tobacco;  initiated  him  into 
the  Orders  and  Brotherhoods  of  Ancient  Buffaloes,  Druids, 
Shepherds,  Odd-Fellows,  or  even  Free  and  Accepted 
Masons.  Her  husband’s  love  of  low  life,  she  said,  coupled 
with  his  lack  of  ambition,  was  the  bane  of  her  married 
life.  Perhaps  she  exaggerated. 

“ As  for  the  friends,”  her  father  replied,  “ if  they  have 
gone  on  in  the  old  way,  I don’t  want  to  meet  them.  When 
a man  gets  up  in  the  world,  the  first  thing  he  should  do  is 
to  kick  away  the  ladder,  and  not  know  one  of  ’em.  As 
for  the  old  life,  I don’t  suppose  I ever  want  to  hear  about 
that  again.  Why  I was  a clerk  in  the  City;  I had  to  go 
and  write  all  day.  A pretty  kind  of  life  mine  was:  at  a 
desk  all  day,  and  your  mother’s  tongue  in  the  evening. 
Very  well,  then.  Don’t  interrupt.  There  is  nothing  to 
keep  me  here.  I shall  sell  the  property,  and  we  will 
go  back  together;  father  and  daughter  ought  not  to  be 
separated;  I suppose  there  is  no  particular  reason  why 
you  should  stay  here,  is  there?” 

“ There  is  George,”  she  replied. 


58 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ Your  sweetheart?  The  chemist’s  clerk?  You  may 
leave  me  to  settle  with  him.  About  this  Ambler  fellow, 
this  jackass  with  the  Discovery,  has  he  got  any  money,  or 
do  you  keep  him  and  all  his  family,  too?” 

“He  has  a small  fortune;  I know  what  it  is  because  I 
have  heard  over  and  over  again.  He  has  five  thousand 
pounds  in  the  Three  per  Cents.” 

“ Of  course,  then,  he  is  mighty  fond  of  you  with  your 
hundred  and  eighty.  Why,  it  is  as  good  as  doubting  his 
income.  Go  tell  him,  if  he  is  in  the  house,  that  I want 
to  see  him.” 

“ Father,”  said  Milly,  standing  before  him,  and  looking 
him  straight  in  the  face,  “there  is  one  thing  in  which 
you  must  please  understand  me  at  once.  I can  never  give 
up  George.” 

“ Not  even  to  go  back  with  me — your  own  father?” 

“Not  even  that.  I do  not  think  in  any  case,  even 
without  George,  I could  go  back  with  you.” 

“ Why  not,  pray?” 

“ Because,”  she  was  a perfectly  truthful  girl,  and  she 
therefore  spoke  exactly  what  was  in  her  mind,  “ because 
I am  afraid  of  you.  Your  letters  prepared  me  for  some- 
thing very  different.  You  are  cold  and  harsh;  you  begin 
with  taking  away  my  property — my  own,  although  you 
are  so  rich  that  you  despise  it  for  being  such  a very  little 
property.  I cannot  prevent  you,  I suppose.  But  I will 
not  go  back  to  America  with  you,  and  I will  not  give  up 
Geo ” 

She  broke  down,  her  voice  choked;  she  fled  because  she 
would  not  let  this  hard  father  of  hers  see  that  he  had 
made  her  cry. 

“ It  is  rather  more  serious  work  than  I anticipated,” 
said  the  Claimant  to  himself.  “ It  makes  a man  respect 
the  stage-father.  I suppose  she  expected  to  be  kissed  and 
cuddled  and  made  much  of.  Well — I can’t  do  it.  As 
for  George,  I think  it  is  a deuced  lucky  thing  there  is  a 
George,  because  she’s  a creature  with  a will  of  her  own, 
not  like  her  fool  of  a father,  and  she  certainly  will  not 
give  up  her  lover  for  a dozen  fathers.  So  much  the  bet- 
ter for  me.  Because  now  I can  sell  up  the  property,  and 
go  away  openly  without  concerning  myself  about  an  un- 
dutiful  child  who  prefers  to  remain  with  her  George.  It 
is  better  than  running  away.  I am  really  very  pleased 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


59 


there  is  a George.  Bless  them  both!  Suppose  she  had 
thrown  herself  upon  my  bosom  and  swore  never  to  leave 
her  fond  and  faithful  father!” 

At  supper  that  evening,  Mr.  Ambler  could  talk  of 
nothing  but  Mr.  Montoro,  who  had  spent  two  hours  with 
him  in  the  map-room,  and  had  been  most  affable  and 
kind. 

“ Before  speaking  of  the  business  in  hand,  which  was, 
of  course,  you,  Milly,  my  dear,  he  engaged  in  conversa- 
tion concerning  the  Great  Discovery.  I found  in  him  one 
of  those  candid  intellects,  keen,  incisive,  logical,  and  open 
to  conviction.  Nothing  of  prejudice  about.  Mr.  Montoro. 
He  has  been  brought  up,  he  confesses,  in  the  old  exploded 
school,  and  has  always  been  taught  that  the  earth  was 
round;  he  was,  indeed,  greatly  surprised  to  learn  that  it 
is,  on  the  other  hand,  flat,  with  a surrounding  Rim  of 
ice.  I begged  him  not  to  take  my  simple  word  for  it, 
but  to  listen,  first,  to  the  arguments.  Well,  he  sat  down. 
First,  I gave  him  my  Plain  Reasons — these  shook  him. 
Then  he  answered,  one  after  another,  my  Simple  Ques- 
tions, and  I flatter  myself  conviction  was  growing  in. 
Then  I read  him  the  Refutation,  which  he  put  in  his 
pocket,  and  promised  to  see  me  again  upon  the  matter. 

“ Then  he  began  to  talk  about  his  own  affairs.  Milly, 
he  is  immensely  rich,  he  is  a millionaire  over  and  over 
again.  I can  hardly  tell  you  what  he  has;  there  are 
mines,  cattle-runs,  farms,  houses — one  whole  town  be- 
longs to  him,  he  says.  Think  of  it.  What  a glorious 
country  it  must  be  fora  man  in  less  than  twenty  years  to 
accumulate  such  wealth!  I think  I have  made  a Recruit 
of  the  very  first  water — a Croesus  among  Recruits.  Hither- 
to, what  we  lacked  in  money  we  made  up  in  logic.  Per- 
haps now  we  shall  get  both  money  and  logic. 

4 4 He  spoke,  among  other  things,  of  a college  or  univer- 
sity, I forget  which,  in  this  city  of  his.  It  was  built  and 
is  owned  entirely  by  himself.  He  said  that  among  other 
professional  chairs  there  is  a chair  of  astronomy  worth  a 
thousand  a year  or  so,  and  that  it  is,  by  great  good  luck, 
at  present  vacant.  He  has  this  appointment  in  his  own 
gift.  If,  he  added,  he  is  quite  satisfied  with  the  new  Dis- 
covery as  to  which  he  was  already  favorably  prepared  by 
his  daughter’s  letters — thank  you,  Milly,  my  dear,  you  are 


60 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


always  our  guardian  angel  ” — Milly  looked  horribly  guilty 
— “ he  sees  no  reason  why  I should  not  fill  that  chair.” 

“ Oh,  Lord!”  cried  George. 

“Eh,  my  dear? — eh,  boys?” 

“ Where  did  he  say  it  is?”  asked  George.  “ A thousand 
a year!  In  his  own  gift?  And  in  America?” 

“He  did  not  say  where.  We  were  only  discussing  pre- 
liminaries, and  I do  think,  children,  that  the  name  of 
Professor  Ambler — no  longer  plain  Reginald  Ambler — on 
a title-page  will  carry  weight,  whether  it  is  the  title-page 
of  the  Plain  Reasons  or  the  Simple  Questions.” 

But  Milly’s  cheeks  were  burning,  because  she  had  never 
spoken  of  her  guardian’s  Discovery  with  respect  in  any 
letter  to  her  father.  What  did  he  want  to  deceive  Mr. 
Ambler  for  in  so  trifling  a matter?  And  with  all  this 
wealth,  why — why  should  lie  desire  to  take  from  her  the 
little  property  which  would  be  so  useful  to  George  and 
herself?  Was  it  to  make  her  an  heiress? 

“ George,”  she  said  that  night  when  she  dismissed  him 
at  the  garden-gate,  “ I do  not  want  his  riches;  I wish  he 
would  go  away  and  leave  me.  Oh,  George,  I do  not  feel 
the  least  speck  of  love  for  him!” 


CHAPTER  V. 

A BEAUTIFUL  DREAM. 

So  far,  things  had  gone  so  easily  with  this  Pretender, 
that  he  began  seriously  to  wonder  why — considering  the 
vast  number  of  lost  cousins,  missing  parents,  strayed 
brothers,  and  wandering  uncles,  claimants  like  himself  for 
the  family  affection,  and  family  funds — family  friends  do 
not  continually  turn  up.  Perhaps  they  do.  Perhaps 
there  are  hundreds  among  us — unsuspecting  innocents — 
bearing  names  to  which  they  are  not  entitled,  and  enjoy- 
ing fortunes  to  which  they  have  no  right.  What  is  to 
prevent  a man  who  knows  the  circumstances  to  march  into 
the  club  of  a dead  man,  for  instance,  supposing  he  alone 
knows  that  the  man  is  dead,  and  taking  up  his  member- 
ship? 

Our  Claimant  went  to  the  villa  again  next  day;  and  the 
day  after,  The  girl,  who  thought  she  was  his  daughter, 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


61 


attracted  him.  She  looked  so  pretty  that  he  could  not 
choose  but  come.  And  after  fifteen  years,  the  sight  of  a 
young  and  beautiful  English  girl  is  something,  even  to 
a hardened,  selfish  old  gambler.  She  behaved  nicely  to 
him,  was  respectful  in  her  language  and  obedient,  save  in 
the  matter  of  that  young  fellow  . 

“ Milly,”  he  said  at  the  fourth  visit — he  was  already  so 
far  advanced  that  he  called  the  girl  by  her  Christian  name, 
and  even  addressed  her  as  “ my  dear/’  and  “my  child,” 
without  stammering  or  hesitation.  “Milly,  we  are  getting 
on  better.  Are  you  still  afraid  of  me?” 

“How  can  I help  being  afraid  of  you?”  she  replied 
truthfully.  “ You  want  to  take  me  away  from  my  friends, 
and  from  my  lover,  and  you  are  going  to  take  away  what 
I thought  was  my  property.” 

“Oh,  your  property!  Silly  child!  Why,  across  the 
ocean,  for  every  pound  you  have  here,  you  shall  get  a 
hundred.  Your  property!  Why,  it  is  because  I want  to 
have  done  with  the  place  altogether  that  I wish  to  sell  it. 
Never  heed  such  a trifle.  Now  tell  me,  do  you  like  so- 
ciety?” 

“I  do  not  know,  we  have  no  friends.  I believe  there 
is  very  good  society  at  Stamford  Hill,  but  we  never  go 
anywhere.” 

“ Do  you  like  theaters?” 

“I  do  not  know;  we  never  go  to  any.” 

“Do  you  like  concerts?” 

“Oh  yes.  I have  been  to  a good  many  concerts,  and 
there  are  lectures  and  dissolving- views.” 

“ Do  you  like  the  West  End?” 

“ I have  never  been  there.  You  do  not  know  as  yet;  we 
are  very  quiet  people;  we  are  always  at  home  working  for 
the  children.” 

“ Yes,”  her  father  was  grown  softer  in  his  manner, 
though  he  was  no  whit  more  demonstrative  or  affection- 
ate; “ye — yes,”  he  said,  stroking  his  mustache;  “ all 
these  things  you  know  nothing  of,  but  you  would  love 
them  if  you  knew  them.  Milly,  without  society  there  is 
no  life;  without  amusement  there  is  no  life;  withou  excite- 
ment there  is  no  life.  Yon  miserable  people  here  do  not 
live;  you  sit  all  together  in  a room,  you  breathe  and  walk 
in  a cage;  you  know  nothing  about  the  world;  you  have 
no  idea  of  its  pleasures.  If  you  marry  this  young  clerk, 


62 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


you  will  £0  on  breathing  and  walking  in  a cage.  Why,  it 
fills  me  with  amazement  that  you  can  go  on  contentedly 
with  this  suburban  life;  and  yet  there  must  be  millions  all 
living  like  this.” 

“ Why  not?  It  is  a very  pleasant  life.  I think  I would 
rather  not  have  the  excitement  you  speak  of.” 

“Come  with  me,  Milly,”  said  her  father,  his  face  actu- 
ally softening,  “and  you  shall  have  a life  which  shall  give 
you  one  pleasure  after  another — every  day  crowded  and 
filled  up  with  pleasures.” 

But  she  shook  her  head. 

“I  was  thankful  for  George  at  first,”  he  said  to  himself. 
“I  thought  it  would  rid  me  of  the  girl.  Now  I see  I was 
a fool,  for  I could  do  much  better  with  her  than  without 
her.  But  how  to  persuade  her?” 

For  by  this  time  another  thought  was  lying  in  his  brain, 
receiving  every  day  new  food  and  encouragement.  He 
saw,  in  a kind  of  ecstatic  vision,  a salon  or  drawing-room 
such  as  he  had  read  of  in  the  old  days  when  he  used  to  read 
French  novels.  It  was  a beautifully  furnished  room,  with 
cabinets,  china,  pictures,  a piano,  mirrors,  and  all  the 
pretty  things  which  belong  to  the  life  he  had  abandoned 
fifteen  years  ago.  He  sighed  as  he  thought  of  such  a 
room.  “I  did  not  know,”  he  said,  “until  I came  home, 
that  I cared  for  it  all  so  much.”  The  room  was  full  of 
people;  there  were  ladies  in  beautiful  toilets,  young  men 
in  evening  dress.  They  were  sitting,  walking,  and  talk- 
ing. He  was  himself  a gentleman  again  to  outward  show. 
At  the  piano  sat  the  girl — he  always  thought  of  Milly  as 
the  girl — playing  and  singing,  the  younger  men  hovering 
round  her,  making  their  court.  Presently  she  rose,  said 
something,  and  laughed,  and  they  all  sat  down  to  a table 
covered  with  green  cloth,  he  at  the  head. 

Yes,  the  Colonel  was  not  in  imagination  returning  to 
paths  of  virtue,  which,  whether  they  led  him  into  pleasant 
drawing-rooms  or  not,  would  certainly  prove  monotonous 
to  him.  It  filled  his  soul  with  happiness,  however,  to 
think  that  he  could  fill  a room  with  people  “comme  il 
faut,”  through  the  attractions  of  his  daughter,  and  do  a 
stroke  of  business  with  them  afterward.  The  perfect 
gambler  can  think  of  nothing  as  complete,  unless  there 
are  a pack  of  cards  in  it  and  a green  table. 

There  was  also  another  dream  which  much  he  loved, 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


63 


yet  sometimes  feared  might  be  difficult  to  realize.  In  this 
dream  there  was  one  young  man  only  in  the  room  besides 
the  girl  and  himself.  The  young  man  was  often  changed, 
because  the  evening  was  made  expensive  for  him.  And  in 
this  dream  there  was  a mirror  before  the  piano  in  which 
the  girl  saw  the  hand  held  by  the  young  man  when  the 
flirting  and  singing  were  over  and  play  began.  Then,  by 
a judicious  arrangement  of  chords,  she  conveyed  to  her 
confederate  the  knowledge  of  that  hand;  or  else  she  got 
up  and  looked  over  his  shoulder,  while  that  innocent 
sheep’s  eye*  looked  up  into  her  artless  face.  Oh,  a beauti- 
ful dream  1 But  before  it  could  become  possible  two  things 
were  necessary:  the  girl  must  be  across  the  water,  and 
away  from  her  friends,  and  she  must  be  made  to  love  a 
life  of  luxury  and  ease. 

“ Good  Heavens!”  he  cried,  “ what  a chance  there  is  for 
me!  They’ve  tried  it  with  their  painted  and  ruddled  old 
hacks,  their  Frenchwomen  and  their  octoroons,  but  never 
once,  I swear,  with  a sweet- faced,  innocent-looking  En- 
glish girl.  They  couldn’t  get  one.  As  for  difficulty,  there 
would  be  none  once  across  the  Atlantic,  away  from  all  her 
friends.  As  for  doing  her  any  harm,  that  is  rubbish. 
Very  likely  she  would  fall  in  love — many  young  women 
do.  I could  get  her  off  my  hands  that  way  without  any 
trouble.  And,  if  not,  why,  then,  when  I had  made  all  I 
want — it  isn’t  really  much — I could  tell  her  everything, 
and  pack  her  off  to  Johnny  in  Oregon.  She’ll  console 
him  for  the  loss  of  the  money,  which  wasn’t  his  any  more 
Hi  an  mine,  and  I shouldn’t  want  her  more  than  a year  or 
nvo.” 

He  forgot  that,  before  you  get  an  honest  English  girl  to 
let  as  professional  decoy  to  a card-sharper,  there  is  likely 
lo  be  a very  considerable  kind  of  row. 

This  dream  remained  in  his  mind  so  long  that  it  became 
a purpose  with  him.  He  was  growing  old;  it  would  be 
dreadful  to  give  up  the  comfortable  life  to  which  he  had 
returned,  and  yet  what  to  do  when  the  money  went?  He 
thought  how  easy  and  pleasant  it  would  be  to  receive  his 
friends  in  a real  high-toned  salon,  with  a pretty  girl  to 
play  and  sing  to  them,  and  help  him  to  cheat  them.  She 
should  go  with  them.  As  for  her  lover,  he  must  be 
given  up. 

But  first  it  was  necessary  to  win  her  confidence.  This 


64 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


he  might  have  done  very  easily  by  the  simple  show  of 
affection.  The  man  could  feign  a good  deal,  but  love, 
the  plain  and  unmistakable  love  which  many  foolish 
fathers  wrap  up  and  surround  their  daughters,  he  could 
not  feign.  Therefore  he  sought  to  win  her  conGdence  by 
dazzling  her. 

First,  he  took  her  to  a splendid  restaurant,  and  gave 
her  a magniffcent  dinner,  consisting  of  a dozen  courses, 
served  in  a great  room  full  of  glass,  mirrors,  and  flowers, 
with  champagne,  of  which  Milly  had  heard,  but  had  never 
tasted. 

“If  you  like/5  said  her  father,  “you  shall  dine  with  us 
every  night.  Good  Heavens!  how  have  I longed  in 
America  for  this  kind  of  thing  again — I mean  in  the  first 
days,  you  know,  before 55 

“What,  could  you  have  known  anything  of  this  kind 
of  life  in  the  old  days?’5 

“ Perhaps,55  he  said,  after  a while,  “a  clerk  may  get 
some  knowledge  of  what  a dinner  should  be  by  flattening 
his  nose  at  the  window.55 

“ But,55  she  went  on,  “ to  waste  all  this  time  and  money 
every  day  in  such  a tedious 55 

“Confound  it!5  he  cri.ed  in  a rage.  “You  are  not 
worth  such  a dinner.  After  all,  how  should  you  under- 
stand it?  A mutton-chop  and  a potato,  I believe,  would 
have  pleased  you  quite  as  well.55 

Then  he  took  her  to  a theater.  They  sat  in  a private 
box,  and  Milly  looked  with  wonder  from  the  stage  to  the 
house,  and  the  house  to  the  stalls.  The  performance  was 
a burlesque,  and  a favorite  one.  It  was  played  partly  by 
actresses  dressed  as  men,  and  Milly  pitied  them,  though 
the  audience  clapped  and  applauded.  She  could  see 
nothing  to  applaud;  you  see  it  wants  a little  education 
before  a girl,  a suburban  and  East  End  girl,  can  really 
admire  the  spectacle  of  women  dressed  in  tights,  or  the 
performance  of  a ballet,  or  the  delivery  of  bad  verses 
crammed  with  puns,  or  the  comic  business,  which  seems 
to  them  like  horseplay.  Such  a girl  does  not  see  any- 
thing to  laugh  at  in  a pun,  or  in  a funny  get-up,  or  in  a 
man  tumbling  down — for  that  matter,  she  does  not  want 
to  laugh  at  all;  she  would'  like  rather  to  cry,  even,  so  long 
as  she  could  see  a beautiful  story  beautifully  played.  But 
this  her  father  did  not  understand,  but  fell  into  a rage 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


65 


when  he  perceived  that  Milly  was  only  bored  with  the 
performance.  He  thought  she  was  sulking  with  him  on 
account  of  his  previous  harshness. 

“You  shall  have  a private  theater  of  your  own  if  you 
like,  and  a ballet  and  all,  and  you  shall  be  manager/7  he 
said.  “You  shall  act  on  your  stage  if  you  like,  only  say 
what  you  would  like/7 

“I  do  not  want  any  ballet,  thank  you/7  she  replied 
coldly,  “ and  I thought  theaters  were  better  worth  going 
to.77 

“ Oh,  very  well/7  he  replied;  “if  you  are  resolved  to 
like  nothing  I do  for  you,  I might  as  well  leave  off  trying 
to  please  you.77 

He  was  now  in  no  hurry  about  going  back.  At  first  he 
spoke  of  going  back  in  a few  days,  but  he  stayed  on.  It 
was  a fortnight  since  he  first  came  to  the  villa,  and  now 
he  came  every  day,  though  Upper  Clapton  is  not  by  any 
means  “ handy 77  for  the  Langham  Hotel.  He  saw  that 
the  girl  disliked  him  still,  but  that  shS’was  trying  to  con- 
quer her  dislike,  and  he  went  on  with  his  plan  of  concili- 
ation. He  had  expected  suspicion;  there  was  none  in  any 
quarter:  he  was  even  received  by  Mr.  Richard  'Ambler,  on 
whom  he  called  to  ask  about  his  houses,  without  the  least 
suspicion.  What  he  had  not  expected,  because  he  would 
not  have  reckoned  it  as  a factor  of  the  least  importance, 
was  dislike.  Now,  with  this  larger  scheme  in  his  mind, 
it  was  of  the  first  importance  that  the  girl  should  learn  to 
trust  in  him  and  to  believe  him  before  getting  her  to  obey 
him. 

He  therefore  persisted.  Since  she  did  not  care  for  the 
theater,  he  took  her  to  the  races.  He  was  rewarded  by 
the  consciousness  that  the  girl  was  all  day  profoundly 
dejected.  She  did  not  want  to  see  the  horses  running; 
she  did  not  in  the  least  care  who  won;  and  she  was  fright- 
ened at  the  great  crowd,  in  which  she  felt  so  entirely  out 
of  place.  Yet  he  had  got  a carriage,  a hamper,  and  a 
most  beautiful  lunch,  and  was  mindful  of  a day  long  past 
when,  with  a similiar  carriage  and  hamper,  but  another 
companion,  he  had  spent  a most  enjoyable  day  at  Ascot. 

He  drank  all  the  champagne  himself — a little  too  much 
— and  then  began  telling  her  stories  which  terrified  her, 
and  made  her  Wonder  what  manner  of  life  her  father  must 
have  led  before  he  married,  since  he  was  familiar  with 


66 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


what  seemed  to  her  simple  mind  the  most  wicked  and 
wasteful  profligacy. 

“Do  you  like  no  kind  of  amusement,  then?”  he  asked 
her. 

She  tried  to  explain  to  him  that  there  are  many  other 
amusements  besides  feasting,  drinking,  burlesques,  racing, 
betting,  and  gambling,  which  might  seem  to  girls  pleasing 
and  desirable  things. 

“Sometimes,”  she  said,  “on  summer  evenings  I go 
upon  the  river  with  George,  or  we  walk  to  Tottenham 
and  as  far  as  Hornsey.  There  are  lectures  to  go  to,  and 
a choral  society,  then  we  have  lawn-tennis,  and  sometimes 
there  are  new  books  to  read,  and  new  music  to  play.” 

Her  father  grunted. 

Then  he  tried  her  with  the  shops  of  Regent  Street. 
No  woman,  he  thought,  can  withstand  the  temptation  of 
fine  things.  He  showed  her  all  the  beautiful  things  in 
the  world,  or  nearly  all — dainty  costumes,  costly  with 
lace,  bonnets  which  were  a dream  of  loveliness,  gloves 
and  parasols,  ribbons,  and  what  not — such  as  the  girl  had 
never  dreamed  of  possessing.  She  refused  them — she 
actually  refused  them. 

“ George,”  she  said,  “ is  only  a clerk  as  yet.  If  I were 
to  go  dressed  in  these  beautiful  things  it  would  make  him 
ridiculous.” 

“George!  What  do  I know  about  George?  Are  you 
not  my  daughter  and  my  heiress?  Can’t  you  remember 
that?  Sometimes  one  would  think  you  were  going  out  to 
America  as  a pauper.  Do  you  really  imagine  that  my 
daughter — mine  !— could  show  herself  in  New  York 
dressed  like ” 

“ Like  the  daughter  and  the  wife  of  a clerk.  But  per- 
haps the  New  York  people  will  have  no  opportunity  of 
giving  an  opinion.” 

“ Was  there  ever  before,”  asked  her  father  impatiently, 
“a  girl  who  was  bound  to  inherit  millions,  and  preferred 
— actually  preferred  to  go  about  as  shabby  as  a shop-girl?” 
„ “ George  is  only  a clerk,”  she  said;  “ I must  dress  ac- 
cording to  my  husband’s  station.” 

“ Why,  hang  it!  are  you  not  my  heiress?  Who  will 
have  my  money  if  not  you?  One  would  think  you  were 
going  out  to  America  to  be  a governess.” 

“ Forgive  me,”  she  said.  “I  have  been  so  long  accus- 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


67 


tomed  to  consider  your  Fortune  as  a thing  which  has 
nothing  to  do  with  me,  that  I cannot  suddenly  change  my 
mind.  If  you  designed  to  make  me  an  heiress,  you  should 
have  told  me  so  ten  years  ago.  Then,  I dare  say,  I should 
have  been  brought  up  differently.  And,  perhaps,  I should 
have  liked  these  things.  But  I belong  to  the  people  whom 
you  now  despise — though  you  were  born  among  them. 
We  live  the  simple,  homely  life  which  you  have  forgotten. 
As  for  these  things — your  great  dinners,  your  theaters, 
and  all  the  rest  of  them,  I suppose  you  enjoy  them  now. 
But  in  the  old  days  you  knew  nothing  of  them.  Had 
you  not  better  leave  me  alone  with  my  friends,  just  as  you 
always  have  done?  You  do  not  want  me  in  your  new  life. 
Why,”  she  looked  him  full  in  the  face  with  those  honest 
eyes  of  hers,  “ there  is  something — I know  not  what — 
which  stands  between  us.  You  do  not  love  me  as  you 
used  to  do  when  you  wrote  to  me,  or  else  you  can  no  longer 
pretend  as  you  did  then — but  I cannot  believe  those  let- 
ters were  all  pretense.  When  I am  with  you  I irritate 
you,  and  then  you  fly  into  a rage  and  swear.  You  try  to 
please  me  with  all  kinds  of  things  which  I do  not 
want ” 

“ What  is  it  you  do  want?”  he  asked  her.  “ What  can 
I buy  for  you?  Only  tell  me.  See,  Milly,  I want  you  to 
like  me.  It  isn’t  a question  of  money  ” — indeed  it  was 
not — “ I will  buy  anything  you  fancy.  But  you  won’t 
like  anything  that  I can  say  or  do.  As  for  those  old  let- 
ters of  mine,  bring  them  to  me.  Who  is  to  remember 
what  he  said  ten  years  ago — writing  to  a little  school- 
girl ?” 

She  brought  them  to  him  obediently.  There  were  not 
many — only  about  twenty,  all  tied  up  neatly  with  green 
silk  and  smelling  of  lavender.  He  cut  the  string  and  read 
the  letters  deliberately.  Remembering  the  log-hut,  and 
the  whisky-bottle,  Johnny’s  wandering  eyes  and  rambling 
speech,  his  miserable  story  and  his  wretched  life,  he  was 
struck  with  admiration.  The  man  possessed  the  first  and 
most  essential  qualifications  of  a novelist — he  could  make 
those  who  read  his  letters  believe  his  statements;  more 
than  this,  he  could  enter  into  his  reader’s  miud  and  un- 
derstand what  she  would  think  of  himself;  what  sort  of 
hero  she  would  construct  of  her  father;  and  he  wrote  ac- 
cordingly. 


68 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ I was  a clever  fellow/’  be  said  at  length,  “ when  I 
wrote  those  letters.  Yes,  Milly,  there  are  many  things 
in  my  life  of  which  I may  be  proud,  and  many  which 
might  have  to  be  explained  away.  You  thought  from 
these  letters  that  it  was  all  sailing  before  a fair  wind.  You 
are  mistaken;  it  was  a hard  fight  all  the  time  with  men 
as  keen  to  get  on  as  I was  myself.  Would  you  have 
liked  me  to  tell  you  the  true  history  of  those  years  of 
struggle?” 

“ I should  like,”  said  Milly,  “my  father  to  be  as  affec- 
tionate and  as  tender  to  me  in  words  as  he  was  in  writ- 
ing.” 

He  shook  his  head. 

“ It  can’t  be,  my  child.  If  you  like  I could  write  more 
letters  to  you,  just  the  same  as  these.  But  I can’t  talk 
like  that.  Here,  take  back  the  things!” 

“I  do  not  want  them  any  more,”  she  replied  sadly. 
“ To  read  them  now  would  give  me  more  pain  than  pleas- 
ure. I would  rather  talk  with  you  than  have  any  more 
letters  from  you.” 

“ Why,  there,”  he  replied,  “ that  is  exactly  what  I 
wanted  you  to  say.  No  more  humbugging  milk-and- 
water  letters,  but  good,  honest,  straightforward  talk. 
You  know  me  now,  Milly,  for  what  I am;”  he  stood  up- 
right and  struck  his  chest;  “a  strong,  plain  man,  and 
perhaps  as  good-hearted  as  if  I came  to  you  with  tears  and 
kisses.  I am  pleased  with  you — yes,  satisfied  and  pleased. 
You  are  a very  pretty,  well-set-up  girl,  good  face,  good 
figure,  good  form.  You  will  do.  You  don’t  pretend  to 
love  your  father;  very  well,  how  should  you?  And  you 
are  not  afraid  to  tell  him  so.  I like  you  the  better  for  it. 
Some  day,  perhaps,  you  will  like  me.  Meantime,  as  you 
are  my  daughter,  and  are  going  to  inherit  everything, 
come  out  with  me  first  to  look  at  your  inheritance.” 

Always  the  same  refrain,  “ Come  out  with  me.” 

He  certainly  made  no  pretense  at  being  a mild  and 
peaceful  character,  and  filled  the  walls  of  Veritas  Villa 
with  tales  which  fired  the  blood  of  the  boys,  and  made 
them  long  to  rush  beyond  the  reach  of  civilization,  to  ride 
the  half-broken  mustang,  to  shoot  at  Mexican  robbers,  to 
sleep  round  camp-fires,  to  wear  a red-flannel  shirt,  a 
crimson  belt,  a slouched  hat,  and  great  boots.  Even 
Copernica  thought  that  no  woman  could  have  a happier 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  69 

lot  than  to  live  in  constant  danger  from  scalping  Indians 
and  blood-thirsty  Mexicans. 

He  laid  himself  out  to  please  everybody  except  George, 
whom  he  treated  with  cold  contempt,  insomuch  that  the 
lover  was  fain  to  keep  away  from  the  house  when  Milly’s 
father  was  there,  and  carried  on  his  courtship  in  the  gar- 
den. He  conciliated  Mrs.  Ambler  with  smooth  words  and 
flatteries,  assuring  her  that  there  was  no  lady  in  England 
who  would  have  brought  up  his  daughter  with  more  care 
and  kindness  than  she  had  shown,  and  that  the  boys  and 
girls  should  always  be  his  sacred  care,  and  he  gave  them 
all  watches,  and  to  Copernica  a gold  watch  and  chain. 

Yet  they  were  afraid  of  him. 

As  for  the  Discoverer,  Mr.  Montoro  became  to  him  as 
a god,  or  pope  at  least,  because  he  announced  his  adhesion 
to  the  theory,  and  admitted  that  he  could  no  longer 
stand  out  against  the  overwhelming  arguments  in  its  favor. 

“ The  world  is  flat,”  he  said.  “ How  thick  it  is, which  we 
should  see  if  we  looked  beyond  the  Outer  Rim,  it  is  impos- 
sible, as  you  say,  for  us  to  surmise.  I have  never  taken 
any  special  interest  in  science,  because  my  work  has  been 
of  a more  practical  nature,  but  I hope  I can  follow  an 
argument  as  well  as  other  men;  and  your  argument,  Mr. 
Ambler,  has  convinced  me.” 

“ To  win  a Recruit,  and  such  a Recruit,”  replied  the 
blushing  philosopher,  “by  the  sheer  force  of  persuasion, 
is  indeed  a triumph.” 

Mr.  Montoro  then  turned  the  conversation  upon  the 
subject  of  his  college.  It  was  a new  college,  he  said; 
there  would  be,  probably,  at  first,  but  a small  number  of 
students;  the  astronomical  class  wonld  be  one  of  the 
smallest.  Still,  it  was  an  opening;  the  country  was  be- 
coming settled  and  populated;  the  college  was  endowed; 
gradually  the  institution  would  grow.  Would  it  really 
be  worth  Mr.  Ambler’s  while  to  leave  London  and  trans- 
port himself  to  a strange  country  in  order  to  lecture  on  his 
own  system  in  his  own  way? 

Worth  his  while!  The  Discoverer  bounded  in  his 
chair. 

“ Then,  Mr.  Ambler,  I shall  be  pleased  to  offer  you  the 
post.  It  is  my  intention  to  leave  this  country  for  America 
in  a few  weeks.  You  can  follow  as  soon  after  me  as  is 
possible  for  you  to  wind  up  your  affairs.” 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


TO 

“ I have  no  affairs/’  replied  the  Philosopher.  “ There 
is  the  society,  to  be  sure,  but  I am  afraid  that  there  is 
only  one  man,  my  convert  Bagshott,  who  will  lament  its 
temporary  suspension.  Bagshott  leaves  me  the  scientific 
department,  and  occupies  himself  with  the  weekly  demon- 
stration from  his  pulpit  that  the  Discovery  is  the  only  way 
of  reconciling  revelation  with  science.  The  only  way, 
Mr.  Montoro!  Such  a man  is  useful  to  me,  and  I shall 
be  sorry  to  leave  him.  They  say  his  congregation  has 
dwindled  to  nothing.  But  the  scientific  aspect  of  the 
question,  which  is  my  own  special  department,  demands 
t-hat  such  a chance  of  spreading  the  Truth  should  not  be 
neglected.  Where,  sir,  if  I may  ask,  is  your  college 
situated?” 

“ It  is,”  said  Mr.  Montoro,  as  unblushingly  as  if  he  had 
been  Johnny  of  Oregon  himself — “ it  is  in  Nevada,  in 
the  city  which  has  risen  on  my  own  ground,  surrounding 
my  own  works.  You  will  not  find  it  on  any  map,  because 
the  city  has  only  been  built  two  or  three  years.  You  go 

first  to  Colorado,  and  next But  no  matter  for  these 

details.  They  can  wait.” 

It  will  be  seen  presently  with  what  object  the  Colonel 
was  deceiving  the  unfortunate  philosopher. 

“ Children,”  he  said  that  evening,  “ the  way  is  now 
clear  to  me.  Should  you  like  to  go  to  Nevada?” 

Nevada!  Bret  Harte’s  books  were  about  Nevada,  were 
they  not?  Nevada;  where  there  are  rocky  mountains, 
grizzly  bears,  silver-mines,  adventurers,  wolves,  buffaloes, 
prairies,  rattlesnakes,  perils  and  dangers,  wealth,  revolv- 
ers, bowie-knives,  and  happiness!  Go  to  Nevada?  Kepler 
looked  at  Tycho  Brahe,  and  gasped.  Ptolemy  seized 
Galileo  by  the  hand,  and  said,  “ Oh,  oh!”  slowly,  and 
from  his  heart. 

“ Where  is  Nevada?”  asked  his  wife. 

“ It  is  one  of  the  newest  of  the  States.  It  is  the  place 
where  Mr.  Montoro  made  his  money.  You  did  not  know 
that,  Milly  ?” 

“ No.  I have  never  had  any  letters  from  Nevada.” 

“ There  he  has  built  a city — it  is  only  two  years  old — 
on  his  own  grounds,  and  about  his  own  works;  and  in  the 
city  is  the  college.  I am  offered — definitely  and  formally 
offered — the  chair  of  astronomy.  Shall  I accept  the 
offer?” 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


71 


There  was  a rapturous  shout. 

“Well,  my  children/’  he  went  on,  “if  it  is  ordained 
that  I achieve  the  greatness  in  America,  which  Oxford 
and  Cambridge  refuse  me,  I hope  that  I shall  accept  it  in  a 
becoming  spirit.  As  for  you  going  with  me,  boys,  I am 
sure  that  with  Mr.  Montoro’s  glorious  example  before  us, 
and  his  patronage  at  starting,  we  need  have  no  fear  or 
hesitation.” 

And  then  there  was  such  joy  in  the  Ambler  family  as 
would  have  done  your  heart  good  only  to  see  it,  without 
understanding  what  it  was  about  at  all.  To  the  elder 
boys  it  meant  wealth  unbounded,  like  Mr.  Montoro’s,  but 
without  so  much  temper;  to  the  younger  it  meant  change 
and  fun — no  doubt  there  were  no  schools  in  Nevada;  to 
Copernicait  meant  justice — tardy,  but  still  justice — to  her 
father;  to  the  good  wife  it  meant  relief  from  tightness. 
Who  would  not  go  to  Nevada  for  a thousand  pounds  a 
year? 

Perhaps,  too,  they  all  thought  there  might  come  a time 
when  there  would  be  less  talk  about  that  Grand  Discovery 
which  made  the  family  look  upon  all  glory  as  vanity,  so 
much  had  it  spoiled  and  wasted  the  father’s  life. 

It  was  now  four  weeks  since  Mr.  Montoro’s  return.  He 
had  partly  succeeded  in  reconciling  Milly.  She  did  not, 
it  is  true,  venture  again  upon  the  mistake  of  kissing  him, 
or  of  expecting  any  caresses  from  him;  but  she  had  over- 
come the  repulsion  which  at  first  filled  her  soul  with  re- 
gard to  him.  Perhaps,  if  he  had  behaved  more  kindly 
with  regard  to  George,  she  would  have  looked  upon  him 
with  some  approach  to  affection.  What  he  wanted  most, 
however,  he  had  got  from  her.  She  trusted  him;  she  did 
not  in  the  least  suspect  him,  and  she  was  growing  very 
nicely,  and  just  as  he  could  wish,  to  feel  toward  the  great 
Fortune  a personal  interest.  He  felt  sure  that  he  could 
manage  the  rest  very  easily,  once  she  was  away  from  her 
friends.  You  do  not,  when  you  go  a tempting,  approach 
the  subject  straight;  you  work  round  it;  you  talk  about 
other  things;  you  prepare  the  mind  for  it;  you  sap  the 
ground;  you  gradually  destroy  principle;  you  do  not,  at 
last,  make  the  last  step  till  you  are  perfectly  certain  of 
success.  The  Colonel,  who  was  a veritable  serpent  for 
craft  and  subtlety,  knew  that  it  would  take  time  to  con- 
vert an  innocent  girl  into  a rogue,  thief,  and  confederate 


72 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


of  cheats;  but  he  knew  what  he  was  about,  and  he  also 
knew  from  long  experience  that  there  are  few  so  strong  as 
to  resist  all  kinds  of  temptation. 

He  now  took  his  next  step. 

“ I must  tell  you,  Milly,”  he  said  with  a touch  of  sor- 
row in  his  voice,  “ that  I am  now  making  my  preparations 
to  go  back  in  a week — this  day  week.  I have  again  seen  Mr. 
Eichard  Ambler,  and  I hear  that  he  can  find  me  a purchaser 
for  the  houses,  and  will  draw  up  the  necessary  papers  im- 
mediately. You  have  heard  that  lhave  given  Mr.  Ambler 
a post  in  my  college.  He  and  his  family  will  therefore 
start  at  once.  This,  if  you  persist  in  refusing  to  accom- 
pany me,  deprives  you  of  a home.” 

“I  can  find  one  with  George.” 

“ I shall  not  oppose  it,”  said  her  father.  “I  might 
have  looked  higher  for  my  daughter,  but  I will  no  longer 
oppose  your  inclinations.  You  shall  marry  the  man  of 
your  choice,  and  I hope  you  will  be  happy.  What  you 
will  do  when  you  come  into  your  Fortune  1 do  not  know. 
You  will  not,  I fear,  either  of  you,  be  equal  to  the  position 
in  which  you  will  find  yourselves.  However,  that  is,  after 
all,  not  my  business,  because  I neglected  you  so  long.  It 
is  my  punishment  that  I cannot  interfere  as  an  ordinary 
parent  might.” 

“ You  are  very  kind  to  me  now,”  said  Milly. 

“ You  mean  that  I was  not  always.  Perhaps  not — per- 
haps not.  I did  not  know  you,  Milly,  when  first  I landed, 
four  weeks  ago.  Forgive  me,  my  daughter!” 

She  looked  at  him  in  surprise.  Strange  that  even  when 
he  was  at  his  softest,  using  words  which  in  other  men 
would  have  been  accompanied  by  some  outward  sign  of 
tenderness,  his  eyes  were  as  keen  and  his  month  as  hard 
as  if  he  were  contemplating  something  connected  with 
fight  and  struggle. 

“Now,  Milly,  I have  been  thinking  a good  bit  over 
things,  and  I am  prepared  to  say  to  you,  ‘ Go  and  marry 
your  lover.’  I will  not  ask  you  to  give  him  up,  and  come 
across  the  water  with  me.  I will  even  make  a handsome 
allowance,  which  will  enable  you  to  live  like  a lady,  if  you 
please.” 

“ Oh!”  she  replied,  taking  his  hand.  But  he  withdrew 
it  quickly,  as  if  afraid  of  her  falling  upon  his  neck  again. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  73 

“I  did  not  expect  this,”  she  added.  “ What  am  I to  say? 
How  shall  I thank  you?” 

“ Nay,  I want  no  thanks.  There  is  only  one  thing  you 
might  do  to  pleasure  your  father.” 

“Why,  is  there  anything,  except  giving  up  George, 
that  I would  not  do?” 

“ It  is  this,  Milly:  You  know  I have  been  a long  time 

from  home,  but  I have  never  forgotten  you;  my  letters 
prove  that.  Now,  it  grieves  me  to  go  back  without  even 
being  able  to  show  any  of  my  kith  or  kin  what  I have  done 
and  the  edifice  I have  raised.  It  is  hard  to  have  no  one 
belonging  to  you.  They  will  say  when  I go  back,  ‘ Col- 
onel’— they  call  me  Colonel,  out  there — 'how did  you  find 
the  little  maid?’ — that’s  you,  Milly — that  is  you;  and  I 
shall  have  to  tell  them  in  reply  that  the  little  maid  is 
grown  up  into  a woman,  who  doesn’t  care  about  her  father 
— why,  how  should  she?  it  is  not  in  reason  that  she 
should — and  is  going  to  be  married  to  a lover  in  a low 
station  of  life.  And  there  is  not  a creature  in  all  the 
world  who  cares  about  me.  It  seems  hard,  doesn’t  it? 
What  is  the  use  of  money  if  it  can’t  bring  me  that  kind 
of  happiness?” 

The  tears  came  into  Milly’s  eyes  as  she  stood  before  her 
father  and  listened.  They  would  have  flowed  more  read- 
ily if  his  own  had  showed  the  least  emotion. 

“Then  I thought  to  myself,  suppose  that  Milly  would 
come  over  with  me  for  a year,  or  two  years— not  more. 
Suppose  I were  to  promise  her  faithfully  that  after  two 
years,  at  most,  she  should  go  back  to  her  lover,  if  she 
pleased.  It  is  not  a very  long  time,  two  years.  Milly  is 
young;  her  lover  is  young.  He  may  very  well  wait  two 
years.  Come,  Milly,  what  do  you  say?  A run  across  the 
ocean,  a ride  across  the  continent.  First,  Nevada  for  a, 
year  or  so;  then  we  will  run  over  to  California;  perhaps 
go  up  country  to — to  Oregon,”  he  laughed.  “Yes,  I 
should  like  to  show  you  Oregon.  I know  people  in  * 
Oregon  who  would  interest  you  very  much.  And  when 
you  were  tired  of  your  father,  and  his  great  house,  and  all, 
you  could  come  straight  away  back  to  your  lover’s  arms. 
What  do  you  say,  Milly?” 

She  was  silent,  thinking.  Was  there  ever  a more  rea- 
sonable or  more  generous  offer?  He  would  let  her  do 
what  she  pleased,  and  only  suggested,  leaving  the  offer  for 


74 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


her  consideration,  that  she  should  give  him  two  years  of 
her  society. 

“ I will  consult  George  about  it,”  she  said  at  length. 

“ Soit ! Let  it  be  so.  Consult  this  infallible  George. 
Milly,  one  word  of  advice.  Don’t  let  George  know  that 
you  think  him  infallible.  It  spoils  a husband.  Your 
mother  never  spoiled  me  in  that  way.  Quite  the  contrary.” 

That  evening  George  and  Milly  had  a long  and  earnest 
talk.  The  proposal  made  by  Mr.  Montoro  seemed  really 
prompted  by  affection.  After  two  years  she  might  return 
to  him.  Was  two  years  a great  deal  for  a father  to  ask  of 
his  daughter?  And  then — one  need  not  be  quixotic, 
although  one  is  a clerk  in  a chemical  works,  with  pros- 
pects— there  was  all  this  great  Fortune.  No  one  doubted 
the  existence  of  the  Fortune,  any  more  than  they  sus- 
pected Mr.  Montoro  of  being  somebody  else.  This  Glori- 
ous Fortune!  Her  father  might  marry  again;  he  might 
leave  it  away  from  his  daughter;  he  might  do  anything 
with  it.  Surely  it  was  worth  a little  concession  to  make 
that  inheritance  safe. 

“I  think,  dear,”  he  said  at  length,  “I  think — how 
can  I part  with  you  for  two  years? — that  you  ought  to 
go.” 

“I  think  so,  too,  George.  But  I am  afraid  of  him.  I 
do  not  know  why,  but  I am  afraid  of  him.  The  Amblers 
will  be  with  us.  It  is  a great  thing  that  Copernica  is 
going.  But  I am  afraid  of  him.” 


CHAPTEE  VI. 

JOHNNY  AGAIN. 

Milly  must  go,  then.  For  two  years  she  would  be  her 
father’s  companion.  It  was  quite  right  and  just;  the  pro- 
posal was  put  so  generously  that  it  was  impossible  to  re- 
fuse. Yet  George  came  away  that  night  from  Veritas 
Villa  in  great  sadness  and  despondency.  Milly  was  afraid 
of  her  father.  Would  he  suffer  her  to  return  after  two 
years?  He  was  afraid  of  the  man,  too.  He  knew  not 
why,  but  he  was;  the  sight  of  Mr.  Montoro  filled  him 
with  a kind  of  rage.  What  business  had  such  a man  with 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


75 


such  a daughter?  Some  wise  men  hold  that  daughters  do 
take  after,  and  resemble,  more  the  father  than  the  mother, 
which  is  an  admirable  thing  when  the  character  of  the 
father  is  worth  preserving  and  copying.  But  in  what 
single  respect  did  Milly  resemble  her  father? 

Pilled  with  these  thoughts  he  did  not  at  first  perceive 
that  there  was  a man  wandering  about  in  the  middle  of 
the  road  with  unsteady  gait,  apparently  the  worse  for 
drink,  and  looking  for  something.  Presently  this  man 
made  for  hirn  in  a devious  and  zig-zag  course,  and  accosted 
him.  His  voice  was  a little  thick,  but  he  was  not  too 
drunk  to  express  himself.  He  knew  what  he  wanted. 

46  Sir,”  he  said — in  fact,  he  did  say  44  shir,”  and  he  ran 
his  words  together  a little,  and  missed  a syllable  here  and 
there,  and  omitted  many' of  the  minor  words,  pronouns, 
conjunctions,  auxiliary  verbs,  and  so  forth.  Let  us  hide 
these  proofs  of  human  frailty  as  much  as  possible,  and 
print  what  he  meant  to  say  without  dwelling  too  much  on 
how  he  said  it.  We  are  all  human,  only  some  are  more 
human  than  others.  44  Sir,”  he  said,  44  can  you  tell  me 
which  is  the  house  of  Mr.  Ambler?” 

44  Mr.  Ambler’s  house?”  George  stared.  44  What  do 
you  want  with  Mr.  Ambler?  It  is  half-past  ten,  and  they 
are  all  gone  to  bed.  Come,  you  must  wait  to  see  Mr. 
Ambler  till  to-morrow.  Do  you  want  to  prove  that  the 
world  is  square?” 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

44  Must  get  up  for  me.  Haven’t  seen  her  nigh  twenty 
years.” 

44  Seen  whom?” 

44  Seen  the  little  maid?” 

44  What  little  maid?” 

44  My  little  maid — my  daughter — Milly  Montoro.” 

44  What?” 

44  My  little  maid — my  dear  little  maid,”  this  strange 
person  went  on  repeating. 

Why,  it  was  like  the  burden  of  Milly’s  father’s  letters. 
They  were  full  of  44 my  little  maid,  my  dear  little  maid?” 
44  Who  are  you,  then?”  George  seized  him  by  the 
shoulder.  44  Stand  up,”  he  said,  44  try  to  be  sober.  Pre- 
tend to  be  sober,  man.  Who  the  devil  are  you?” 

44  I’m — I’m — her  father:  the  little  maid’s  father — Milly’s 
father.” 


76 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ Her  father?  What  is  your  name,  man?” 

“ Mv  name  is  Montoro.  The  Colonel  called  me  Johnny, 
Real  Christian-name — baptized  name — is  a fool  of  a name 
— Worshipful  Charles.” 

“ Good  Lord!”  cried  George.  “ But  you  are  drunk. 
Where  do  you  come  from?” 

“ The  Commercial  Docks,  Rotherhithe.  Came  over 
from  Quebec  in  timber-ship.  Was  ship’s  cook. 

“ Look  here,”  said  George.  “Whoever  you  are,  you 
cannot  go  to  the  house  to-night,  because  you  are  drunk, 
and  because  it  is  late.  You  must,  therefore,  come  with 
me.” 

He  took  the  man  by  the  arm,  and  led  him  unresisting 
to  his  own  lodgings,  which  were  not  far  off. 

“Now,”  he  said,  turning  up  the  gas  in  the  sitting- 
room,  “ let  me  look  at  you.”  He  did  look,  and  he  trem- 
bled. 

The  man  was  dressed  in  an  old  and  ill-fitting  suit  of 
black  cloth.  I do  not  think  there  is  any  kind  of  dress  in 
which  a man  may  look  so  fearfully  shabby  as  a suit  of 
black.  This  is  partly  due  to  the  fact  that  it  is  evening 
dress,  and  should  suggest  social  cheerfulness.  In  the 
same  way,  no  one  could  possibly  look  more  melancholy 
than  a clown  by  daylight  outside  his  show  and  in  official 
dress.  A diess-coat,  too,  when  it  has  grown  old,  and 
has  seen  long  service  in  some  third-class  restaurant, 
falls  into  curves,  lines,  and  folds  which  seem  to  debase 
and  degrade  the  figure  of  man  beneath.  This  man’s  whole 
suit,  again,  was  disgracefully  and  deplorably  dirty,  and 
covered  with  streaks  of  grease.  Everything  was  to  match; 
he  wore  no  collar,  but  had  a red  handkerchief  tied 
about  his  neck,  and  a gray  flannel  shirt  in  rags;  his  hat 
was  a slouched  felt  of  the  commonest  description.  He 
took  off  the  hat  and  stood  in  the  light,  a little  sobered, 
but  his  eyes  were  heavy  with  drink.  They  were  light 
blue  eyes,  unsteady  and  weak.  He  wore  a long  grayish 
beard,  but  his  hair  was  brown  and  silky.  And  the  reason 
why  George  trembled  was  not  because  his  clothes  were  so 
shabby,  but  because  his  face  was  like  unto  the  face  of  his 
sweetheart  and  his  eyes  like  her  eyes,  though  different  in 
expression.  The  daughter  was  like  the  father,  and  he 
knew — he  was  perfectly  certain — that  before  him  stood 
the  man  whom  the  other  pretended  to  be. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


77 


" Once  more — who  do  you  say  you  are?” 

"Worshipful  Charles  Montoro  is  my  name.” 

" Where  do  you  come  from?” 

"'From  Oregon,  last,”  he  replied,  partly  sobered  by  this 
young  man’s  earnestness.  " I came  from  Quebec  in  a 
timber  vessel;  shipped  as  cook.” 

" You  came  over  here  as  cook?  Where  is  all  your  money 
then  ?” 

The  man  shook  his  head. 

" I haven’t  got  any  money,”  he  replied.  " There  was 
some  in  the  bunk;  the  Colonel  stole  it.” 

"Where  is  your  Fortune  then?” 

" I haven’t  got  any  Fortune.  How  should  I have 
any?” 

"What  did  you  mean 'then  by  your  letters?” 

"My  letters?  Oh!”  Then  he  put  his  hand  to  his 
head  in  a feeble  way,  trying  to  understand.  Then  he  sat 
down  looking  bewildered.  And  presently,  while  George 
waited  for  further  explanation,  his  head  fell  back  and  his 
eyes  closed.  He  was  asleep.  And  while  he  slept  he  looked 
still  more  like  Milly. 

The  man  slept  all  through  the  night;  George  mounting 
guard  over  him  lest  he  should  wake  up  and  slip  away. 
By  the  morning  light  he  looked  more  disreputable  than 
ever.  When  he  awoke  at  seven,  George  took  him  into  his 
own  bedroom,  and  gave  him,  to  begin  with,  a completely 
new  rig-out,  in  which,  at  all  events,  he  presented  a re- 
spectable appearance.  The  man  was  very  much  subdued, 
and  asked  no  questions,  taking  what  was  offered  him,  and 
doing  what  he  was  told.  Apparently  a gentle  and  amen- 
able person.  Then  George  gave  him  breakfast,  and  after 
breakfast  bade  him  tell  his  story. 

I suppose  there  never  was  a man,  since  gift  of  speech 
was  first  granted  to  humanity,  who  rambled  in  his  talk  so 
much  as  Johnny  of  Oregon;  what  he  had  to  tell  we  already 
know,  but  George  did  not.  He  got  at  last,  and  after  a 
thousand  twistings  and  turnings,  to  the  point  at  which 
the  Colonel  came,  stayed  with  him  a week,  proved  excel- 
lent company,  and  finally  made  off  with  the  money  and 
the  letters.  Then  he  went  on: 

" When  the  Colonel  stole  that  money,  and  the  letters  as 
well,  and  I could  not  come  up  with  him,  nor  hear  of  him 
anywheres,  I hadn’t  the  heart  to  go  back  to  the  clearin’, 


78 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


and  hung  around  a bit  doin’  odd  jobs,  as  many  are  ready 
to  do  all  over  the  States.  And  so  somehow  I worked  my 
way  back  again  to  the  east,  and  in  the  spring  got  to  Que- 
bec, Now  when  you  stand  on  the  hill  at  Quebec  and  look 
across  to  the  east,  it  seems  as  if  you  can  see  all  the  way 
across  the  water  to  London.  Curious  that,  isn’t  it?  And 
what  with  havin’  none  of  her  letters  to  read,  and  lookin’ 
across  the  water,  and  thinking  I was  gazing  upon  Hack- 
ney Wick,  I fell  to  dreamin’  about  the  little  maid,  and 
longin’  to  see  her  again.” 

“So  you  came  home,  and  got  drunk?” 

“ Yes,  sir;  that  is  so.  Oh,  I knew  very  well  I should 
have  to  own  up!  And  I knew  what  they  would  say;  par- 
ticularly Matilda’s  sister,  P’leena,  who  married  very  well, 
and  now  keeps  carriage  company.  It  would  be  rough  on 
the  little  maid  at  first  to  see  her  father  such  a disgraceful 
old  pauper,  and  a shame  to  a respectable  terrace  to  be  seen 
loafin’  around,  after  all  I’d  told  her,  too.  First  I thought 
I would  just  look  over  the  palings  like,  and  go  away;  some- 
body would  tell  me  which  of  them  she  was;  perhaps  I’d 
beg  a copper  to  carry  away  and  remember  her  by.  Then 
I thought  how  would  it  be  if  I made  a clean  breast  and 
begged  her  pardon  humble,  and  so  went  away  again.  All 
the  journey  across  the  ocean  in  that  timber  ship  I thought 
about  it,  and  what  I should  do.  And  when  I got  across 
to  Poplar  only  this  morning,  I tell  you,  sir,  I’d  no  more 
notion  of  what  was  best  to  be  done  than  when  I started.” 
“ Perhaps  you  never  have  had  any  notion  in  all  your  life 
of  what  was  best  to  be  done.” 

“ Perhaps  not,  sir.  Men  who  see  clear  get  on  in  the 
world.  I never  saw  further  than  the  end  of  the  job.” 

“ But  why  did  you  get  drunk?” 

“ Well,  twasn’t  right;  but  think  of  it.  I hadn’t  seen  a 
public-house  for  nineteen  years.  They  haven’t  got  any 
where  I’ve  been.  They’ve  got  bars,  but  if  you  want  a 
comfortable  drink  with  a pipe  and  a friend  to  talk  to,  you 
must  come  to  England.  I don’t  quite  know  how  many 
public-houses  there  are  on  the  straight  road  between  this 
and  Poplar,  but  I tried  the  drink  at  most,  with  a pipe 
here  and  a pipe  there,  feelin’  comfortable  because  I was 
workin’  my  way,  you  see,  with  the  little  maid  at  the  end 
of  the  way.” 

“And  so  you  got  disgracefully  drunk.  Yes — I see.” 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


79 

[j  ?here  seemed  no  possibility  of  doubting  or  disputing  the 
, nan’s  statements.  They  were  told  too  naturally  for  decep- 
ion.  But  what  was  to  be  done  next? 

“ What  is  the  Colonel  like?” 

Johnny  described  the  man  who  had  repaid  his  hospital- 
ty  by  stealing  his  money.  He  described  him  so  exact- 
j y that  there  was  little  doubt  in  George’s  mind  who  was 
he  personator,  in  spite  of  the  discrepancies  of  beard  and 
nustache. 

“As  for  his  profession,  he’s  a sportsman,”  continued 
lis  informer.  “He  sometimes  plays  alone,  and  some- 
times he’s  one  of  a gang.  Sometimes  he  travels  and  plays 
n the  cars;  sometimes  he  goes  to  bars,  and  sometimes  he 
keeps  a gaming-saloon.  There’s  thousands  like  him  in 
r-he  countries  where  I’ve  been.  Very  good  company  they 
are  when  there’s  no  plunderin’  and  cheatin’  around.  If 
there’s  a quarrel,  which  there  mostly  is,  it’s  wild  cats.  I 
was  a peaceful  man,  I was,  and  nobody  never  drew  bead 
on  me;  but  I’ve  seen  many  a fight  over  the  cards,  and  now 
and  then  a quiet  man  like  myself  got  hit  when  the  firin’  be- 
gun. The  best  way  is  to  roll  over  and  lie  on  the  floor  till 

it’s  over.  I remember  now,  once,  down  to ” 

“ Never  mind  that.  Let  us  get  on.” 

“ I’m  a peaceful  man,”  he  continued,  repeating  himself 
as  usual;  “ yet  if  I had  come  across  the  Colonel  after  he 
stole  my  money,  I’d  have  shot  him.  Yes,  if  I hanged  for 
it.  Seems  now  as  if  I don’t  care  much  about  it  any  more. 
I never  had  any  money  before  I found  that  roll  of  notes 
in  the  empty  cabin,  and  I’m  no  worse  off  than  I was  then. 
P’raps  I shall  go  back  to  Oregon,  and  liv6  in  the  cabin 
again  by  myself  when  I’ve  seen  the  little  maid.  It’s  quiet 
living  all  by  yourself.  When  you  go  about  in  gangs 
there’s  no  such  things  as  getting  an  hour’s  quiet,  and  a 
peaceful  man  loves  to  be  quiet.  Lord!  if  you’d  heard 
the  language  I had  to  hear  every  day,  you’d  like  a few 
years’  quiet.  No;  I don’t  care  so  much  about  the  money, 
and  of  course  the  Colonel  has  lost  it  all  by  this  time.” 

“ You  want  to  see  your  daughter.  I will  help  you,  but 
on  conditions.  First,  I must  tell  you  that  I am  going  to 
marry  her.” 

“ You  are  going  to  marry  my  little  maid?”  He  stared 

in  great  amazement.  “Why,  she  can’t ” 

“ I am  sure,”  said  George,  “ that  she  has  not  remained 


80 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


a baby  in  arms  for  nineteen  years.  Yes;  I am  going  to 
marry  her.  And  it  seems  to  me  that  the  sooner  I do  it  the 
better.”  j 

“ Well,  sir,  it’s  real  friendly  of  you,  and  I hope  she’ll 
make  a good  wife,  and  that  you’ll  treat  her  kindly.  But 
I do  assure  you,  sir,  that  it  is  not  my  wish  nor  my  inteiw 
tion  to  disgrace  my  daughter  by  staying  at  home.  No,  j- 
sir,  a clerk  I was  once,  with  three  pounds  a week,  and| 
therefore  a gentleman.  But  I’ve  had  that  knocked  outjj 
of  me  long  ago,  and  now  I’m  only  a common  loafer  and '! 
tramp,  except  when  I’m  on  my  clearin’  in  Oregon,  and  a 
the  whisky  bottle’s  most  always  too  much  for  me.  She 
sha’n’t  blush  for  her  father,  sir.  Not  after  the  first  go-off,  I 
after  I’ve,  had  to  own  up.  Tell  me,  sir,  does  she  think 
much  about  the  Fortune?  Does  she  want  money  sent 
home  to  her  to  keep  up  her  position  like  her  poor  mother?” 
“ No,  she  does  not.  She  believes— or  did  believe  until 
the  other  day— that  you  are  dead,  and  your  Fortune  all 
lost,  or  fallen  into  wrong  hands.  The  loss  of  what  she 
did  not  expect  will  certainly  not  grieve  her  much— not ; 
half  so  much  as  to  learn  that  her  father,  of  whom  she  has 
learnt  to  think  so  tenderly,  is  a man  who — finds  a whisky- 
bottle  most  always  too  much  for  him.” 

The  man  hung  his  head  like  a school-boy  receiving  re- 

proof.  , , 

“ Yes,”  he  said,  “I  mustn’t  stay  at  home.  Thats  a 
fact.  Can’t  I go  over  this  morning  and  have  it  out  with 
her,  and  go  away  again?” 

“ No,”  George  replied  with  energy,  “you  cannot.  It 
is  one  of  the  conditions  I make  with  you.  You  are  to 
stay  here  quietlv,  for  a week  if  necessary;  you  must  not 
go  out  unless  I go  with  you.  You  must  not  make  any  at- 
tempt at  all  to  speak  with  her.  Do  you  promise?” 

The  man  hesitated. 

“If  you  will  not,”  said  George,  “I  will  make  you  put 
on  again  those  disgraceful  clothes — I will  give  you  a bot- 
tle of  whisky,  and  turn  yon  into  the  road ; you  can  then 
drink  yourself  blind  drunk  and  stagger  off  to  find  your 
daughter,  and  make  her  have  you  marched  off  to  the  sta- 
tion as  a drunken  vagabond.” 

The  man  shuddered  and  trembled. 

“ I will  do,”  he  replied,  “ whatever  you  tell  me.” 

“Very  well  then.  Stay  at  home — here — until  I como 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


81 


iack.  You  may  smoke  a pipe  all  day  long  if  you  like, 
»ut  there  is  no  drink.  Do  you  promise.'' 

“ Yes,  sir;  I will  do  what  you  order.  I wouldn  t shame 

h “Very  good’.  But  just-  tell  me  what  you  did  it  for? 

was  the  good  of  deceiving  her  about  youi  succes  . 
^“Welt  lmw”— he  had  grafted  a kind  of  American 
Irawl  upon  a full  and  rich  cockney  twang,  the  result  of 
,vhich  gave  a peculiar  flavor  to  his  speech  we  , , 

ae  said  slowlv,  “ put  it  to  yourself.  Here  is  a child  at 
lome  taught  to  believe  her  father  a lazy  and  idle  fellow 
ivith  no  smartness.  Her  mother  taught  her  that,  likely. 
Here’s  a father  a good  many  miles  awav  who  wants  that 
child  to  stick  out  her  chin  like  girls  who  have  pride 
their  parents,  as  some  do,  not  only  in  Standford  H , 
but  also  Tottenham,  and  many  other  places.  Nothin 
makes  a girl  proud  and  haughty,  and  therefore  happy,  as 
being  sure  she’s  got  a great  and  noble  fathei.  I ieme“ 
her  them  in  church  on  a Sunday  morning,  their  fathei 
being  perhaps  an  alderman,  and  perhaps  a common-co 
eilman.  What  does  that  father  do?  Twice  a year  he 
borrows  a sheet  of  paper,  and  on  the  Sabbath  when  e 
rest  are  asleep  or  playin’  monty,  he  sits  and  writes  to  that 
daughter  letters  which  shall  make  her  pi oud  and  happy. 
Do  you  call  that,  sir,  doin’  of  a parent’s  duty,  or  do  yon 

not?” 

George  did  a verv  unusual  thing  that  morning.  He 
asked  for  a week’s  holiday,  and  was  granted  it. 

He  began  his  week  by  a very  busy  and  important  moining. 
First,  he  had  a long  conference  with  Mr.  Rich  aid 
Ambler,  in  which  many  things  of  interest  were  considered 
and  action  resolved  upon. 

“ Remember,”  said  the  solicitor,  “you  have  to  protect 
Milly  against  the  real  man  as  well  as  against  , the  pretender. 
And  suppose  the  real  man  wants  to  sell  her  houses  and 
pocket  the  money  ?” 

“ He  will  not,”  said  George. 

“ I do  not  know.  Perhaps  he  will  not  be  tempted.  As 
for  Reginald,  leave  him  to  me.  Professor  of  Astronomy 
indeed!  But  what  is  the  use  of  fooling  poor  Reginald. 
And  to  think  that  not  one  of  us  suspected  the  fellow  I 
Now  go,  and  lose  no  time.  We  have  the  rogue  sate 


82 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


enough,  bat  I do  not  know  yet  if  we  can  proceed  against 
him  criminally.” 

“ At  all  events,  he  stole  the  notes.”  I 

“Yes,  yes,  but  it  was  in  Oregon,  and  perhaps  they! 
might  ask  to  whom  these  notes  belonged;  on  the  whole,  it 
is  a tangled  business.  He  has  attempted  to  defraud  in 
instructing  me  to  sell  the  property;  but  in  doing  this 
he  injures  not  me  nor  his  daughter,  but  the  rightful  owner, 
who  is  this  man,  Montoro  himself,  and  from  your  account 
I should  say  he  would  not  be  a likely  man  to  become  a 
prosecutor  or  give  good  evidence.” 

“ The  limpest  weed  of  a man  you  ever  saw,”  said 
George. 

In  the  evening  George  came  home.  His  prisoner  had 
been  asleep  most  of  the  day,  and  had  obediently  kept 
within  the  house. 

“Very  good,”  said  George,  “I  will  now  reward  you.” 

He  took  him  out,  and  walked  in  the  direction  of  Veritas 
Villa.  At  this  time,  in  these  summer  evenings,  the  Dis- 
coverer’s family  were  generally  in  the  garden  playing 
lawn-tennis.  This  evening  they  were  all  on  the  lawn 
together,  Milly  with  them,  playing.  There  was  only  a 
low  wooden  paling  over  which  one  could  easily  look  with- 
out the  appearance  of  curiosity  or  impertinence. 

“There,”  said  George,  “is  your  daughter.  Not  the 
little  girl  with  the  glasses;  she  is  only  fifteen,  and  Mr.  j 
Ambler’s  daughter.  The  taller  girl.  Look  at  her  well. 
In  a day  or  two  you  shall  speak  to  her.” 

The  man  looked  his  best.  When  George,  a few  minutes 
later,  drew  him  away,  the  tears  were  running  down  his 
face. 

“I  see,”  said  George,  “that  your  story  is  true.  You 
are  really  Milly’s  father.  But  I was  certain  of  it  from  the 
beginning.” 


CHAPTER  VII. 

TILL  TO-MORROW. 

The  next  morning  George  greatly  astonished  the  in- 
habitants of  Veritas  Villa,  by  paying  them  a visit  in  the 
morning,  a thing  never  known  before.  He  explained  that, 
as  he  had  a holiday,  he  thought  he  would  just  look  round 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  83 

j see  them.  His  cousin  Reginald  was  in  the  map-room? 

I would  go  there. 

[e  found  the  Discoverer,  aided  by  Copermca,  specta- 
j ; on  nose,  busily  engaged  in  cataloguing  books,  looking 
j ough  letters,  rolling  up  maps,  and  between  these  labors 
king  notes  for  that  great  inaugural  lecture  which  was 
revolutionize  astronomical  research,  in  America  first, 

[ the  old  world  next.  It  was  already  a voluminous 
ss  of  notes — the  Philosopher  belonging  to  the  school 
ich  thinks  that  the  longer  they  make  their  utterances 
more  likely  they  are  to  be  listened  to.  In  the  same 
f the  scholars  of  ‘the  Renaissance  used  to  believe  that 
bigger  their  books  the  more  certain  would  be  their 
mortality.  And  there  are  not  wanting  poets  of  this 
y century  who  also  believe  that  the  more  they  wiite 
! better  they  will  be  loved  and  preserved,  and  their 
mory  kept  green.  As  for  novelists,  they  do  not  count, 
;ause  nobody  ever  supposes  that  a picture  of  life  can  be 
>ught  worthy  of  preservation— lucky  those  who  get 
d by  their  own  generation. 

‘ Come  in,  come  in,  George,”  cried  Reginald  cheerily. 
Here  we  are,  hard  at  work — hard  at  work.  I expect  we 
ill  have  to  sail  in  a week  or  two — as  soon,  that  is,  as 
| can  sell  off  our  sticks  and  get  rid  of  the  house.  I am 
i ting  my  inaugural  lecture.  This,  George,”  he  added, 
th  great  seriousness,  “ is  the  most  important  piece  of 
rk,  I am  convinced,  that  I have  ever  yet  been  called 
on  to  do.  In  it  I have  to  strike  a note,  such  a note  as 
ill  be  at  once  an  alarm  and  a message  of  Truth,  and  an 
;10  he  did  not  explain  how  an  alarm  could  be  all  these 
“ yes,  and  shall  re-echo  through  the  length  and  breadth 
the  land — from  the  North  Pole  to  the — to  the  mysteri- 
;S  ice  caverns  of  the  Outer  Rim.  A college  class,  George, 
a very  serious  thing,  it  is  a sacred  thing.  I may  regard 
j own  as  a collection  of  empty  vessels  waiting  to  be 
ed,  or  as  so  many  canals  which  have  to  irrigate  a thirsty 
antry,  or  as  so  many  springs  of  Truth.  Ought  we  not, 
/■self  and  Copernica,  who  shall  be  my  assistant  lecturer, 
consider  ourselves  as  instruments  appointed  for  the 
reading  of  Truth,  or  even  prophets?” 

^opernica  blushed  and  gasped,  and  adjusted  her 
isses.  • 

“ Ought  we  not,  I say v 


84 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ You  certainly  ought.’’  George  replied,  rudely  inter- 
rupting. “But,  Reginald — I will  not  stop  your  work 
many  minutes— are  you  quite  sure  that  it  is  wise  to  build 
upon  this  offer,  to  jump  at  the  conclusion  that  you  ought 
to  accept  it,  to  be  so  certain  of  going?” 

“ Why,  George,”  the  Discoverer  smiled,  “ as  regards 
the  wisdom  of  the  step,  I may  be  allowed  to  be  the  best 
judge;  as  regards  the  certainty  of  going,  I have  already 
accepted  the  offer.” 

“Yes,  yes;  but,  Reginald,  are  you  quite  sure” — here 
George  looked  confused — “ that  it  is  a genuine  offer?”  j 
“ Genuine  offer!  What  do  you  mean,  George?  The 
offer  is  made  by  Mr.  Montoro  himself — by  Milly’s  own 
father.  Surely  I can  trust  Milly’s  father?” 

“Yes,  I believe  you  can  trust  Milly’s  father.” 

George  could  not  help  saying  this. 

“ When  he  offers  me  such  a post,  what  can  I do  but 
accept  with  gratitude?” 

“Why,”  George  replied,  “it  is  ungracious  to  look  a 
gift  horse  in  the  mouth,  but  I think,  if  I were  you,  I 
would  first  find  out  where  the  college  is.” 

“ It  is  in  Nevada,  near  the  city  of  Colorado.  I know 
where  it  is.” 

“ In  Nevada.  Yes,  yes.  That  is  a long  way  off. 
Would  it  not  be  prudent  first  to  get  the  prospectus,  papers, 
calendar,  or  whatever  the  college  has  got  to  prove  its 
existence?” 

“Now,  George.”  Mr.  Ambler  was  really  annoyed  at 
this  appearance  of  distrust.  “In  Mi lly’s  father’s  hands 
I am  quite  safe.  ‘ He  is  bound  to  us/  he  kindly  says,  * by 
bonds  of  gratitude/  though  Heaven  knows  Milly  has 
done  ten  times  as  much  for  us  as  we  have  done  for  her. 
It  is  all  quite  settled.  I have  told  Cousin  Dick  to  have 
my  Funds  sold  out,  and  placed  to  my  credit  in  the  bank. 
When  we  get  out,  Mr.  Montoro  is  going  to  invest  the 
money  for  us  at  ten  or  twelve  per  cent.  Think  of  that, 
after  a beggarly  three!  Milly  is  going  with  us.”  George 
started.  He  had  not  quite  realized  what  this  meant. 

“ Going  too.  We  shall  be  quite  a family-party.  George! 
What  are  you  swearing  for?  and  what  are  you  banging  the 
table  for?”  Because  George  suddenly  remembered  that 
he  had  only  the  night  before  agreed  to  intrust  Milly  to 
this  villain’s  care  for  two  years. 


A GLORIOUS  F011TUKE. 


85 


“ George/’  said  Copernica,  frightened,  “ don’t  look  like 
that.  What  is  the  matter?  Because  Milly  is  to  go  away 
for  two  years?  Oh,  for  shame!” 

He  made  a desperate  effort,  and  controlled  himself. 

“I  want  you  seriously,  Reginald,”  he  said,  speaking 
calmly,  “ to  consider  the  possibility  of  your  not  going  at 
all.” 

“ I cannot.” 

“Oh,  George,”  said  Copernica,  “when  he  has  got  the 
chance  at  last  of  spreading  the  Truth  all  over  the  world.” 
“He  can  spread  the  Truth  just  as  well — better  even — 
from  Veritas  Villa,”  replied  George  cruelly.  “ Regi- 
nald,” he  repeated,  “you  must  renounce  this  project.” 
“ What!  and  give  up  my  professorship?” 

“ Why,  George?”  asked  Copernica.  “ Why  is  he  to  re- 
nounce the  project?” 

“ Because — because  there  is  a very  good  reason,  but  I 
cannot  tell  you  to-day.” 

“'If  there  is  a good  reason,”  Copernica  insisted,  “all 
the  more  reason  for  telling  it  at  once.” 

“No.  But  think,  Reginald,  what  would  the  place  be 
to  you  even  if  it  were  all  that  has  been  represented  to 
you?  An  obscure  college,  in  a new,  far-off  American 
town,  a place  where  your  voice  would  not  reach  beyond 
the  walls  of  the  lecture-room  with  its  half-dozen  students. 
Call  that  an  opening?  Why,  here  in  London  you  address 
the  whole  world.  Everybody  looks  to  London.  Things 
said  and  written  in  London  go  over  the  whole  world.  You 
are  at  the  head  of  a society,  growing  ” — here  he  stam- 
mered, but  held  on  bravely — “growing  daily  and  rapidly 
in  importance.  You  know  that  they  are  afraid  of  you  at 
the  universities.  If  you  were  in  America  you  would  be 
out  of  their  way;  they  would  fear  you  no  longer.  They 
ask  for  nothing  better  than  your  removal.  Mr.  Montoro 
is  playing  into  their  hands.  As  for  your  society  it  would 
fall  to  pieces,  and  your  theories  would  be  set  aside,  and 
speedily  forgotten,  while  you  were  eating  out  your  heart 
in  obscurity.  It  would  be  exactly  as  if  you  had  never 
lived,  while,  after  your  death,  some  one  would  take  up 
your  ideas  and  steal  them,  and  bring  them  over  here  and 
pretend  that  they  were  his  own.  But  here  you  live  like  a 
king — like  a king,”  he  repeated  mendaciously.  “ You 
control  the  scientific  world,  you  keep  your  trembling  op- 


86 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


ponents  in  perpetual  terror;  they  are  obliged  to  have 
recourse  to  every  kind  of  disreputable  dodge  which  you 
defeat;  they  try  to  close  one  avenue,  you  open  another. 
This  incessant  activity  frightens  them;  it  confounds 
them;  they  never  know  on  what  side  they  are  next  to  be 
attacked.  Consider  this,  my  dear  Reginald.” 

“ George,”  murmured  the  girl,  “you  don’t  mean  it. 
You  have  never  talked  like  this  before.  If  only  you 
meant  it,  you  would  be  a Recruit,  and  the  best  we  have 
ever  had.” 

“ I mean  every  word,”  he  replied,  though  he  felt  that 
his  name  ought  to  have  been  written  Ananias — “every 
word  I have  said.  And  as  for  you,  Copernica,  instead  of 
crying  out  upon  me  for  being  unkind,  you  ought  to  be 
backing  your  father  up,  and  making  him  feel  that  his 
right  place  is  where Jie  is  sitting,  in  his  wooden  chair  in 
the  map-room  at  Veritas  Villa,  ready  to  fight  with  all 
comers.” 

“But  what  does  it  mean?”  asked  Reginald  blankly. 
“Tell  us  only  what  you  mean.” 

“ I cannot  to-day.  But  I will  tell  you  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. Meantime,  for  Heaven’s  sake  cease  to  build  your 
hopes  upon  this  project!” 

“ As  for  the  honor  of  Mr.  Montoro ” Reginald  be- 

gan, but  stopped  short,  because,  to  his  amazement,  George 
began  to  clinch  his  fist,  grind  his  teeth,  jump  about  the 
room,  and  show  all  the  external  signs  of  wrath  which  can 
be  only  appeased  and  satisfied  by  the  kickings,  whackings, 
and  free  fights  of  the  good  old  times. 

Some  day — we  may  not  live  to  see  it — we  shall  return 
to  that  excellent  method  of  our  ancestors.  There  are 
many  men  with  whom  one  would  like  to  have  it  out  “ en 
champ  clos.”  I should,  myself,  enormously  enjoy  con- 
templating my  enemy  after  I had  taken  the  conceit  out 
of  him  with  a battle-ax. 

This  entanglement  with  Reginald  Ambler  was  difficult 
to  understand.  What  did  the  man  want?  To  get  them 
all  out  in  America  away  from  their  friends,  and  to  rob 
them?  It  must  be  that.  Or  was  it  possibly  pure  devilry 
and  wanton  mischief?  Not  the  latter,  certainly.  The 
Colonel  was  not  at  all  the  man  to  perpetrate  such  a gi- 
gantic hoax.  One  may  imagine  Theodore  Hook  doing 
such  a thing  if  he  had  got  the^chance  and  it  occurred  to 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


8 ? 


him;  and  how  he  would  have  made  a song  about  it,  and 
how  they  would  all  have  laughed  over  their  punch  in  the 
delicate  and  feeling  manner  of  their  time  at  the  fine  situ- 
ation ,of  the  broken-hearted  enthusiast.  But  not  the 
Colonel;  he  did  not  desire  to  laugh — had  not  laughed,  in 
fact,  for  something  like  twenty  years,  that  is  to  say,  ever 
since  he  began  to  live  on  his  wits.  Those  savages  of  Cey- 
lon, who  never  laugh,  and  only  begin  to  smile  when  they 
are  defunct  and  ghosts,  live  on  their  wits,  which  accounts 
for  their  melancholy.  What  the  Colonel  was  contriving 
was  pure  rascality  and  robbery.  In  order  to  set  up  his 
gaming-saloon  in  the  best  style  he  wanted  as  much  money 
to  begin  with  as  he  could  command.  And  he  saw  his 
way  to  getting  a good  large  haul  out  of  Beginald  Ambler. 
However,  George  said  no  more,  but  left  them  abruptly. 
Then  Copernica  burst  into  tears,  and  threw  herself  into 
her  father’s  arms. 

“ Oh,  papa  dear,  what  is  it?  what  does  he  mean?” 

“1  do  not  know,  child.  How  should  I know?  Is 
George  gone  mad?” 

No;  she  shook  her  head.  George  was  certainly  not 
gone  mad. 

“ There  is  something  behind,”  she  cried;  “ George  does 
not  talk  at  random.  Oh,  what  is  it?” 

“I  would  stake  my  life,”  said  her  father  shortly,  “ on 
Mr.  Montoro’s  honor.  Why — is  George  silly?  Here 
comes  home  a man  who  has  been  so  busy  for  twenty  years 
making  a great  Fortune  that  he  has  never  even  had  time 
to  come  home  before;  he  is  changed,  of  course.  No  one 
expected  in  a rich  millionaire  the  manner  of  a clerk, 
which  he  was  before  he  went  out.  Everybody  says  he  was 
once  a very  meek  and  humble  creature.  He  isn’t  now. 
But  so  rich  and  successful  a man  can  afford  to  be  a little 

overbearing.  He  comes  home,  then ” 

“ Father,”  said  Copernica  desperately,  “ we  may  go  on 
talking  till  to-morrow  morning,  when  George  is  to  tell  us 
what  he  means.  Talk  as  much  as  we  like,  we  shall  get  no 
further  forward.  Shall  we  try  and  make  believe  that  the 
whole  thing  is  a dream,  and  that  we  shall  not  go  out  at 
all,  so  that  we  shall  feel  the  blow  less?” 

“I  can’t,  my  dear,”  her  father  replied.  “I  think  I 
must  go  out  to  America  or  somewhere  else  and  have  my 
say,  or  choke.  Here  no  one  will  listen  to  me.” 


88 


A GLORIOUS  RORTUHE. 


“ They  wouldn’t  listen  to  Galileo.” 

“ I wish  they  never  had.  But  as  for  me,  I must  speak. 
And  this  is  my  only  chance.” 

“ To-morrow  morning— let  us  wait  till  to-morrow  morn- 
ing. At  any  rate,  papa  dear,  if  the  worst  were  to  happen 
— that  is  to  say,  if  we  could  not  go — we  should  be  exactly 
the  same  as  we  were  before  Mr.  Montoro  came.  But,  oh, 
it  is  impossible!” 

“It  is  impossible,”  said  her  father,  trying  to  feel  the 
confidence  of  his  words;  “ George  has  got  a bee  in  his 
bonnet.  Many  chemists  get  bees  in  their  bonnets.  Let 
us  go  on  with  our  work,  Copernica.  Let  us  lose  no  time. 
The  college  must  find  us  prepared.” 

But  his  hand  shook,  and  his  brain  was  troubled. 

For  there  was  a thing  which  he  had  not  told. 

On  the  morning  before,  Mr.  Montoro  had  held  with  him 
a last  conference  on  the  subject  of  the  college  and  the 
chair;  he  gave  him  a paper  of  instructions  how  to  get  to 
Colorado,  showing  what  would  be  the  cost  of  the  journey, 
the  time  taken,  and  the  best  way  there.  It  was  a paper 
calculated  to  carry  conviction  to  the  mind  of  the  most 
suspicious,  even  a Yankee  lawyer.  In  fact,  there  is  noth- 
ing which  one  man  cannot  persuade  another  to  believe  if 
he  gets  him  quiet  and  away  from  his  fellow-creatures.  In 
the  smoking-room  of  a club,  for  instance,  nobody  believes 
anybody.  In  the  retirement  of  the  Discoverer’s  map- 
room,  the  Colonel’s  lies,  ingeniously  constructed,  were 
accepted  without  the  least  suspicion. 

“ And  now,  my  dear  friend,”  said  Mr.  Montoro  finally, 
“I  think  we  have  settled  everything.  I cannot  tell  you 
with  what  satisfaction  I look  upon  the  fact  that  we  have 
secured  you  for  our  new  college.  The  possession  of  gen- 
ius in  our  Professorial  Chairs  is,  above  all,  the  great  thing 
wanted  for  anew  institution.  Oh  yes,  to  be  sure,  I had 
almost  forgotten.  About  your  own  money  matters.  Have 
you  arranged  them?” 

“I  have  written  to  my  cousin,  who  manages  my  affairs, 
to  sell  out  my  stock  and  pay  the  amount  to  my  account  in 
the  bank.” 

“Yes;  that  is  well.  We  can  get  you  better  interest 
across  the  water.  How  are  you  going  to  bring  it  with  you?” 
“I  do  not  quite  know,”  replied  the  philosopher,  who 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE.  89 

had  thought  of  tying  it  up  in  gold,  and  so  bringing  it  in 
his  pocket. 

“ Let  me  advise  you,”  said  Mr.  Montoro.  “If  you  are 
sure  you  can  quite  trust  me — actually  trust  me — I will  pay 
it  into  my  own  account,  giving  you  a note  or  receipt  for 
it,  which  will  make  you  quite  safe.  You  can  give  me  a 
check  payable  to  bearer,  and  I will  save  you  all  further 
trouble  about  it.” 

This  was  a perfectly  faithful  promise.  He  fully  intend- 
ed to  save  Mr.  Ambler  and  his  family  all  trouble  about  the 
money  for  the  future. 

He  then  sat  down  and  calculated  the  cost  of  the  jour- 
ney, with  a margin;  he  was  very  particular  about  the  mar- 
gin, so  as  to  allow  ample  room,  he  said,  for  possible  emer- 
gencies. This  done;  he  subtracted  the  total  amount  from 
the  sum  lying  to  Mr.  Ambler’s  credit. 

“ There,”  he  said  pleasantly,  “it  is  a real  comfort  for 
me  to  be  of  a little  assistance  as  a practical  man  to  a 
Genius  and  a Philosopher  Draw  me  the  check,  payable 
to  bearer — so.  When  did  you  order  the  sale  of  the  stock? 
Yes,  I do  not  think  the  money  will  be  paid  to  your  credit 
till  the  day  after  to-morrow.  Then  I. should  think — but 
that  matters  nothing  to  you.  So,  sign  the  check — Reginald 
Ambler.  Shake  hands,  my  dear  friend.  I believe  firmly 
that  you  will  always  consider  this  as  the  very  luckiest  day 
in  all  your  life.  Courage!  The  way  of  glory  lies  plain 
and  clear  before  you.  Of  glory?  Ay,  and  of  wealth  and 
success  to  your  boys.  For  1 shall  take  care  of  them  all. 
Yes,  I charge  myself  with  them.” 

It  was  the  memory  of  this  check  and  what  it  might 
mean,  because  the  poor  man  knew  nothing  about  stopping 
checks,  that  lay  on  the  Discoverer’s  conscience  as  heavy 
as  lead. 

George  sought  Milly,  who  was,  if  one  may  confess  a 
thing  which  should  not  be  a cause  of  shame,  in  the  kitchen 
making  gooseberry  jam.  This  is  a conserve  favorably  re- 
garded by  the  youthful  palate,  and  is  cheap.  To  the  adult 
who  is  picksome,  the  jelly  of  Siberian  crab,  which  is  soft 
and  silky  to  the  palate — as  they  say  of  claret  and  of  tea — 
is  preferable,  and  so  is  the  preserve  made  of  blackberries, 
which  is  full-flavored  and  fragrant,  yet  fresh  from  the 
wood. 


90 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“Milly,  my  dear,”  he  said  cheerfully,  though  he  was 
oppressed  with  the  thing  he  had  to  face,  “you  look  de- 
lightful in  a white  apron,  and  your  fingers  are  so  sticky 
that  you  are  defenseless.” 

“George,”  she  said  demurely,  “did  you  stay  away  from  ; 
business  on  purpose  to  kiss  me?” 

“Not  quite,  dear  child.  On  the  contrary,  I have  a 
great  deal  to  say  to  you.  First  of  all,  I have  made  my 
cousin  Reginald  miserable,  and  Copernica  as  well.” 

“Oh!  But  why?” 

“Next,  I am  going  to  make  you,  not  miserable,  but 
full  of  wonder.  Mv  dear  Milly,  a very  strange  and  most 
unexpected  thing  has  happened.  I do  not  think  I ought 
to  tell  you  to-day  what  that  is.  Indeed  you  must  not 
hint  or  let  fall  the  slightest  suspicion  that  anything  at  all 
has  happened.” 

“ Has  it  anything  to  do,  George,  with — with — with  my 
father?” 

“A  good  deal,  Milly.  But  ask  me  no  more.” 

“Yes,  tell  me;  is  it  anything  against  him?  I told  you, 
George,  that  I do  not  love  him  as  I ought  to  love  my 
father,  but ” 

“ Bat  his  honor  is  a sacred  thing,  Milly.  There  is 
nothing  against  your  father’s  honor  that  I know  of.  Yet 
remember  that  Mr.  Montoro  does  not  know  that,  and 
must  not  be  told,  or  allowed  for  a moment  to  suspect, 
until  to  morrow.” 

“ It  looks  like  conspiring  against  one’s  own  father;  but 
1 do  not  expect  that  he  will  come  here  to-day.” 

“ It  is  not  that,  Milly,  as  you  will  see  to-morrow.  It 
is  conspiring  for  him.” 

“ George,  I do  not  understand  in  the  least.  To-mor- 
row! Why,  he  is  coming  here  to-morrow,  to  meet  Mr. 
Richard  about  the  sale  of  the  houses.  Oh,  my  poor 
houses!  I am  so  sorry  they  are  to  be  sold.” 

“I  don’t  think  they  will  be  sold,”  said  George. 

“And  to-morrow  I am  to  drive  about  London,  to  buy 
fine  things  for  my  outfit.” 

“ Perhaps  you  will  not  take  that  drive,”  said  George 
mysteriously. 

“And  I had  a letter  to-day  from  my  aunt  Paulina.  She 
has  not  seen  me  for  four  years,  but  I told  her,  when  I 
wrote  last,  that  my  father  had  returned,  and  she  is  coming 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


91 


here  to-morrow  to  see  him.  ‘ Congratulate  him/  she 
says,  ‘ on  his  splendid  success,  and  we  shall  always  be 
pleased  to  see  him,  and  you  with  him,  at  Wimbledon.’  ” 
George  laughed. 

“ I am  glad  your  aunt  is  coming.  It  will  be  another 
agreeable  surprise  for  your  father.  Does  he  know?” 
“No,  he  does  not.  I only  got  the  letter  this  morning. 
He  has  always  declared  that  he  does  not  desire  to  see  any 
of  his  relations.” 

“ Shall  you  send  him  the  letter?” 

“Why,”  said  Milly,  “my  father  has  never  even  told 
me  where  he  is  staying.” 

“I  can  tell  you  that,  if  you  want  to  know.  Stay,  I 
will  tell  you  to-morrow.” 

“ George,  you  are  most  mysterious.  Tell  me,  is  this  a 
bad  thing  that  has ” 

“ No,  not  a bad  thing.  It  is  such  a good  thing,  Milly, 
that  had  it  not  happened  ” — his  face  darkened — “ I would 
have  wished  you  lying  dead  and  buried  in  the  graveyard, 
and  myself  beside  you.  Oh,  my  dear,”  again  he  clinched 
his  fist,  and  looked  like  one  who  thirsts  for  another  man’s 
blood,  “it  is  such  a good  thing  that  we  shall  have  to  go 
in  humble  gratitude  for  it  all  the  rest  of  our  lives.” 

“And  I shall  leave  it  to-morrow?  Why,  George,  what 
can  it  be?  It  is  not  money — nothing  to  do  with  money 
would  make  you  wish  me  dead.  And  you  say  that  it  does 
not  affect  my  father’s  honor.  Why,  what  can  it  be?” 

“ You  shall  learn  it  to-morrow.  But  for  to-day,  Milly, 
can  you  trust  me?” 

“ Why,  George  dear,”  she  said,  throwing  her  arm  round 
his  neck — it  was  not  true  that  her  fingers  were  sticky — 
“George,  if  I cannot  trust  you;  whom  am  I to  trust?” 
“Then,  my  darling,  obey  me  for  exactly  four-and- 
twenty  hours,  aud  I will  obey  you  for  all  my  life  to  come. 
Listen,  my  dear.” 

He  whispered. 

The  effect  of  that  whisper  could  not  be  equaled  even  by 
the  gallery  in  St.  Paul’s  Cathedral.  Milly  blushed,  and 
then  turned  pale;  first  her  eyes  looked  startled  and  fright- 
ened; next,  they  became  soft;  first  she  opened  her  mouth, 
and  gasped;  then  her  lips  trembled,  and  gradually  settled 
into  a smile. 

“ George,”  she  said,  “do  you  mean  this?” 


93 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


For  reply  he  drew  out  a document  and  showed  it  to 
her.  She  read  it  through  and  blushed  again.  It  was  a 
formal  document,  the  nature  of  which  became  evident  to 
her  after  the  first  few  words  of  preamble. 

“ But  I sail  the  day  after  to-morrow.” 

“Do  you  think*  my  dear,  that  I am  going  to  let  you 
go?” 

“But  what  am  I to  say?  Oh,  George,  what  will  my 
father  say?” 

“He  will  approve — he  will  consent;  and  yet  you  will 
not  go  to  America  with  him.” 

“Oh,  I am  in  a dream!” 

“Do  you  consent  then,  my  dear?” 

She  gave  him  both  her  hands. 

“ Yes,  George,  only  tell  me  what  to  do.” 

“ You  have  only  to  come  to  my  rooms  to-morrow  morn- 
ing at  ten.  Bring  Copernica — poor  little  maid! — with 
you,  and  say  nothing — not  one  word — to  any  one,  my 
dear.  I cannot  rest  for  thinking  that  you  are  not  yet 
under  my  protection.  Only  one  day  more  to  wait.  You 
cannot  be  carried  off  in  one  day.” 

“ Who  is  to  carry  me  off,  George?” 

“There  is  only  one  man,  my  dear,  who  would  try,  but 
he  is  possessed  of  many  devils.  Kiss  me,  and  trust  me, 
and  say  nothing.” 

All  that  day  there  was  a restraint  at  Veritas  Villa,  and 
an  uneasy  feeling  that  something  or  other  was  going  to 
happen.  Copernica  went  on  with  her  task  of  cataloguing, 
but  without  heart;  the  Discoverer  continued  to  sit  before 
the  notes  of  his  inaugural  lecture,  but  somehow  his  en- 
thusiasm was,  for  the  moment,  quenched.  He  even  fell 
into  one  of  those  fits  of  despondency  which  sometimes, 
but  rarely,  filled  his  mind  with  the  blackness  of  despair, 
because  at  those  times  a mocking  voice  asked  him  how  it 
was  that  he  could  never  account  for  a lunar  eclipse.  What 
should  he  say,  when  his  class  asked  him  how,  on  his 
system,  he  could  produce  an  eclipse  of  the  moon? 

“Father,”  said  Copernica  at  length,  “ it  is  no  use  try- 
ing to  work.  George  meant  something — he  never  talks 
idly;  but  let  us  put  the  things  away  and  go  for  a walk.” 
She  took  her  father  to  the  banks  of  the  river,  where  they 
wandered  in  a mood  of  settled  gloom.  The  child  tried 
to  raise  her  father’s  spirits  by  pointing  out  the  many 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


93 


proofs  of  the  earth’s  flatness  which  could  be  gathered 
from  the  prospect  around  them.  In  fact  anyone  who 
contemplates  the  Wanstead  Marshes  long  enough  cannot 
fail  of  arriving  at  the  conclusion  that  the  earth  is  as  flat 
as  a pancake.  But  the  Discoverer  remained  dejected. 
Was  the  cup  to  be  dashed  away  from  his  lips  at  the  very 
moment  of  fruition?  Was  he  really  to  go  on  in  the  old 
half-hearted  way,  making  a Recruit  now  and  then,  court- 
ing contempt,  being  held  up  to  ridicule?  And  then — the 
recollection  of  that  check  lay  at  his  heart.  Yet  if  one 
could  not  trust  Milly’s  father,  in  whom  was  trust  to  be 
placed  ? 

To-morrow — to-morrow  he  was. to  know. 

One  person  remained  to  be  prepared.  This  was  the 
unfortunate  Johnny.  George  took  him  in  the  afternoon 
to  see  his  old  haunts.  They  visited  together  the  places 
which  he  had  known  in  the  old  days:  the  cottage  where 
he  brought  home  his  young  wife,  and  was  happy  before 
the  sister  married  into  carriage  company,  and  the  bane- 
ful passion  of  envy  was  aroused;  the  church  where  he 
once  held  part  of  a pew;  the  tavern,  where  there  had  been 
a club,  to  which  he  went  once  a week,  when  there  was  a 
sing-song.  Johnny — whom  it  is  impossible  to  call  Mr. 
Montoro — shed  tears  in  thinking  of  that  weekly  sing-song. 
Then  they  took  train — in  the  old  days  it  was  an  omnibus 
— to  the  City,  and  gazed  at  the  exterior  of  the  house 
where  he  had  once  been  a clerk.  When  the  man’s  heart 
was  thus  softened  with  the  past,  George  began  to  prepare 
him  for  the  morrow. 

“ I have  kept  you  a prisoner  all  this  time,”  he  said, 
6C  partly  for  your  own  sake.  Tell  me,  what  would  happen 
if  you  had  met  the  Colonel  in  America?” 

“I  should  have  shot  him,”  he  replied.  “ Oh  yes!  I 
know  I should  have  shot  him;  I felt  exactly  like  shooting 
him.” 

“ If  you  were  to  meet  him  here  in  England,  what  would 
you  do?” 

“ There  would  be  a fight,”  he  said  courageously.  “ Yes, 
I think — I’m  most  sure  there’d  be  a fight,  because  I’m 
bound  to  call  him  a thief,  and  the  Colonel  is  not  a man 
likely  to  stand  that — you  lay  your  last  dollar  he  isn’t.  So 
there  must  be  a fight,  you  see.” 


94 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ It  would  be  a poor  sort  of  a fight,”  said  G tfrge. 
“ Well,  suppose  you  heard  that  the  Colonel  was  calling 
himself  by  your  name ” 

“ What’d  he  do  that  for?” 

“Suppose  he  went  to  Mr.  Ambler’s  house  and  said  he 
was  Mr.  Montoro,  and  that  Milly  was  his  daughter,  and 
sold  her  houses,  and  told  her  to  go  oyer  to  America  with 
him.” 

“With  him!  Go  with  him!”  The  man  became  pale, 
and  trembled  in  all  his  limbs.  “The  little  maid  go  with 
him!” 

“ That  is  exactly  what  he  has  dona.” 

Then  Johnny  began  to  swear.  Mild  as  he  was,  he  had 
learned  to  swear  after  the  manner  of  the  American  rough 
and  rowdy.  He  swore  at  the  Colonel  so  terribly  that 
George  thought  he  would  have  some  kind  of  fit.  He 
swore  so  long  that  George  thought  he  would  never  finish. 

“Come,”  he  said  at  length,  “if  you  hadn’t  already 
sworn  enough  for  ten  men,  I would  ask  you  to  say  it  all 
over  again  for  me.  How,  I warn  you,  to-morrow  you 
will  meet  that  identical  villain.  What  are  you  going 
to  do?” 

“Why,”  Johnny  replied  slowly,  “he  hasn’t  got  the 
little  maid,  has  he?  ’Twould  be  very  different  if  lie  had. 
And  he  hasn’t  got  the  money  for  them  houses,  has  he? 
So,  mister,  I think,  as  I’m  a peaceful  man,  I shall  kind 
o’  let  him  go.  The  Colonel’s  a terrible  man  to  fight.  It’s 
a great  thing  to  be  peaceful — kind  o’  gets  a man  on  in  the 
world.” 

“ Yes,”  said  Qeorge,  “you  are  a beautiful  example,  are 
you  not?” 

“But,”  said  Johnny,  “about  them  notes.  Yes,  I am 
afraid  there  may  be  a fight.” 

Poor  Milly!  Her  luck  in  fathers  was  very  bad.  George 
wondered  which  of  the  twain,  on  the  whole,  was  the  more 
undesirable.  Difficult  to  honor  either  of  them — and  there 
is  an  old-world  prejudice  that  it  is  better  to  be  a sturdy 
rogue  than  a coward.  If  the  Colonel  was  a rogue  he  was 
sturdy.  If  Johnny  was  indifferent  honest,  he  was  a most 
dreadful  coward. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE, 


95 


CHAPTER  VIII. 

WHO  GIVETH  AWAY  THIS  WOMAN? 

“I  knew,”  said  Copernica,  when  Milly  asked  her  to 
put  on  her  hat  and  go  for  a walk  with  her,  “I  knew  that 
something  would  happen  to-day,  and  I knew  it  would  be 
something  to  do  with  you,  because  George  was  in  it.  And 
it  will  be  something  to  do  with  Mr.  Montoro,  because  papa 
is  in  it.  Yes,  Milly  dear,  I will  be  ready  in  a minute.  As 
for  poor  papa,  he  has  not  slept  a wink  all  night,  but  walked 
about  groaning,  and  this  morning  he  is  sitting  all  of  a heap- 
like among  the  boxes.  And,  oh,  good  gracious,  Milly! 
you’ve  got  on  your  white  frock  and  white  gloves.  What 
in  the  world ” 

“ Come,”  said  Milly,  smiling;  “you  shall  know  in  half 
an  hour  as  much  as  I know  myself.  Why,  dear,  as  to 
what  it  all  means,  1 know  no  more  than  you.  But  some- 
thing has  happened — something  which  is  to  make  us 
grateful  all  our  days,  George  says,  and  to-day  we  shall 
learn  what  it  is.” 

“But,  why  white  frock  and  white  gloves?”  Copernica 
persisted.  “ It  is  like  a wedding.” 

“ Yes,  dear,”  Milly  blushed,  “ it  is  terribly  like  a wed- 
ding, is  it  not?” 

First,  they  went  to  George’s  lodgings.  This  was  in  it- 
self a remarkable  thing,  because  George  should  have  been 
at  his  business.  But  he  was  not,  he  was  standing  at  the 
garden-gate  waiting  for  them.  With  him  were  two  gen- 
tlemen— one  of  them  Copernica’s  cousin,  Mr.  Richard; 
the  other,  a strange  man — not  a gentleman,  exactly,  to 
judge  by  his  look,  which  was  downcast  and  shy,  as  if  he 
was  dressed  in  a suit  of  clothes  too  good  for  him;  and  really, 
when  Corpernica,  who  was  sharp  of  observation,  brought 
her  eyes  to  bear  upon  that  stranger’s  dress,  she  became 
conscious  that  he  was  dressed  in  George’s  clothes,  which 
made  her  feel  as  if  she  was  in  a dream.  She  was  certain 
of  it — quite  certain  of  it — she  knew  the  pattern  and  rec- 
ognized the  cut.  Who  was  this  strange  man,  who  must 
needs  borrow  a suit  of  George’s  clothes?  Had  he  turned 


56 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


np  with  nothing  to  wear?  And  when  he  lifted  his  head 
and  looked  round  him — in  a furtive,  ashamed  kind  of  way 
— the  child’s  brain  became  suddenly  troubled,  because  he 
reminded  her  of  somebody — she  knew  not,  for  the  mo- 
ment, who  it  could  be.  This  more  than  ever  made  her 
feel  like  being  in  a dream. 

This  uncanny  ghost-like  feeling  may  be  arrived  at  any 
day  by  walking  about  the  streets  of  London  at  twilight, 
when  you  just  catch  a glimpse — no  more — of  the  faces  as 
they  pass,  and  find  your  mind  presently  filled  with  odd 
fancies  and  vague,  sorrowful  suggestions.  You  have 
seen — you  remember  when  they  have  passed  you — faces 
which  reminded  you  of  dead  friends.  The  procession  of 
London  faces  is  endless;  as  one  grows  older  the  streets  be- 
come more  and  more  filled  with  the  faces  of  the  dead;  so 
that  one  thinks  sometimes  that  this  marching  in  the  pro- 
cession beside  the  living  may  be  one  form  of  purgatory; 
and  one  trembles  to  think  that  if  we  were  to  grow  very 
old  indeed,  the  procession  of  faces  in  a crowded  street 
would  be  wholly  composed  of  dead  men.  To  this  girl,  the 
face  of  the  strange  man  suggested  likeness  to  some  one,  a 
feeling  of  having  seen  it  before  somewhere;  and  it  made 
her  uncomfortable.  George  did  not  introduce  him  to 
them;  took  no  notice  of  him;  and  merely  nodded  to  him 
when  he  said  that  it  was  time  to  be  moving. 

They  formed  a little  procession.  George  and  Millv 
went  first;  Mr.  Richard  and  Copernica  came  next;  and 
the  stranger  followed  behind,  saying  nothing,  but  hanging 
his  head  with  every  appearance  of  great  dejection. 

It  was  only  a part  of  the  general  mystery  and  strange- 
ness, and,  therefore,  it  did  not  in  the  least  surprise  Coper- 
nica that  they  walked  all  the  way  to  Hackney  Church,  and  j 
went  up  the  steps,  observing  the  same  order. 

But  in  the  porch  of  that  great  square  Saratoga,  or 
traveling-trunk,  which  does  duty  for  a parish  church, 
George  stopped  and  said: 

“ Millv  dear,  I thought  you  would  like  to  be  married 
in  the  same  church  as  your  father  and  mother.” 

“ Ay,”  said  the  stranger  in  a low  voice,  “it  was  in 
this  very  same  church,  twenty-one  years  ago.  And  Ma- 
tilda in  pink.” 

Then  Milly  was  going  to  be  married.  That  was  one  of 
the  things.  But  why?  And  where  was  her  father?  And 


A GLORIOUS  EORTUHE. 


97 


George  looking  as  serious  as  if  lie  was  going  to  a funeral. 
At  weddings  people  ought  to  laugh  and  be  happy,  she 
thought,  being  as  yet  young  and  ignorant,  and  not  think- 
ing that  from  weddings  spring  most  of  the  ills  which  do 
afflict  humanity;  such  as  a lean  purse,  a nagging  tongue, 
household  troubles,  sick  children,  bad  sons,  disappointing 
daughters,  distraction  of  peace,  abolition  of  comfort,  and 
many  others.  It  is  true  that  there  is  the  chance  of  great 
blessings;  such  as But  they  are  known  to  every- 

body, and  at  the  outset  we  all  expect  them,  and  mean  to 
have  them,  and  shape  our  course  accordingly.  But  what, 
Copernica  wondered,  what  in  the  world  did  this  mysteri- 
ous person  mean  by  saying,  “Matilda  in  pink”?  Who 
was  Matilda. 

Then  they  went  into  the  church.  There  were  already  as- 
sembled the  People,  represented — as  is  the  way  with  the 
People  on  state  occasions,  because  they  are  all  busy  out- 
side, toiling  and  moiling— -by  their  elected  and  trusted 
functionaries,  the  verger  and  the  pew-opener.  And  a 
curate  was  in  the  vestry  putting  on  his  robes  of  office. 

They  walked  up  the  aisle  and  stood  before  the  altar, 
and  presently  the  clergyman  came  out  of  the  vestry,  and 
took  his  place,  book  in  hand,  and  began  the  service.  The 
words  echoed  mockingly  in  the  great  empty  church. 
Copernica  would  have  cried  had  not  at  the  very  begin- 
ning the  stranger  dressed  in  George’s  clothes  begun  to 
snuffle  and  to  shed  tears,  which  made  her  ashamed  of 
being  in  his  company.  Why  should  he  cry?  What  busi- 
ness had  he  with  the  wedding  at  all?  She  would  have 
liked  to  whisper  her  opinion  of  this  conduct  to  her  cousin 
Dick  Ambler,  but  he  looked  as  serious  as  George,  and 
bore  himself  as  if  weeping  strangers  in  other  people’s 
clothes  belonged  to  every  wedding,  like  the  dreadful  old 
skeleton  which  was  always  present  at  the  feast,  though  it 
was  good  manners  to  take  no  manner  of  notice  of  it. 

Another  wonderful  thing.  When  the  clergyman  asked, 
“ Who  giveth  away  this  woman?”  the  stranger  it  was  who 
officiously  stepped  forward  and  performed  this  duty  which 
Cousin  Dick  should  have  done,  and  he  did  it,  too,  with  a 
most  indecent  choke  and  gulp,  murmuring  irreverently, 
“You  bet  I do,”  which  is  not  in  the  prayer-book.  And 
then  to  the  end  of  the  service  he  never  took  his  eyes  from 
the  bride,  who  regarded  him  not  at  all^  and  seemed 


98 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


not  to  know  that  he  was  present,  being  wholly  occupied 
with  the  overwhelming  fact  that  she  was  being  swiftly 
converted  into  a wife.  She  had  her  heart’s  desire — not 
quite  in  the  way  she  had  expected,  which  was  a way  of 
festivity  and  good  wishes,  but  she  had  her  desire.  There- 
fore she  ought  to  have  been  happy.  But,  oh,  what  would 
her  father  say?  And  what  about  that  promise  to  go 
with  him  for  two  years?  Yet  George  assured  her  that 
her  father  would  actually  consent.  Why,  how  could 
that  be?  But  she  was  married,  the  ring  was  on  her 
finger,  and  the  words  were  said;  yet  she  was  afraid — 
a girl  on  such  an  occasion  wants  to  have  her  spirits  kept  up 
by  the  gathering  of  her  friends;  no  one  likes  to  be  married 
in  an  absolutely  empty  church;  it  was  like  some  uncared- 
for  creature  to  be  married  with  no  one  to  support  her  ex- 
cept Copernica,  and  even  her  own  father  not  present. 

When  they  went  to  the  vestry  to  sign  the  strange  man 
came  with  them,  and  signed  his  name  after  the  bride,  but 
she  did  not  read  his  signature. 

Then  the  ceremony  was  complete,  and  Copernica  fell 
into  the  bride’s  arms  and  kissed  and  hugged  her. 

“Oh,  Milly,  Hilly,”  she  said,  “ what  does  it  mean?  Are 
you  to  stay  while  we  go  away  without  you?'  And  what 
will  your  father  say,  and  what  will  he  do?  Will  he  take 
you  away  with  him  just  the  same?” 

“ What  should  he  do?”  interposed  the  stranger  huskily. 
“It  isn’t  for  the  likes  of  him  to  carry  sweet  maids  away 
to  America.  Don’t  you  take  on,  miss.  He  never  meant 
it.  Not  for  one  minute  did  he  think  of  doing  such  a 
thing.” 

“Come,  Milly  dear,”  said  George;  “you  have  got  to 
listen  to  a little  story  before  you  go  home — I mean,  before 
you  go  back  to  your  old  home.  Your  home  is  with  me 
now,  thank  Heaven!  You  will  come  too,  Copernica.  It 
is  a strange  story,  not  very  terrible,  but  it  might  have 
been.” 

So  they  all  went  back  again.  There  was  no  wedding- 
breakfast  prepared,  no  champagne  or  drinking  of  healths, 
or  wishing  of  joy,  or  throwing  of  rice,  or  looking  up  of 
old  shoes.  Not  at  all.  They  went  silently  into  George’s 
room,  and  stood  looking  at  each  other,  and  especially  at 
the  stranger,  whose  face  betokened  the  most  painful  shame 
and  confusion. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


99 


“ Now,”  Mr.  Richard  said  to  him,  “you  have  got  some- 
thing to  tell  us  and  something  to  confess.  Try  to  tell 
your  story  straight  through  if  you  can.  You  had  better 
begin  at  once.  Milly,  sit  down  and  listen.  We  will  all 
sit  down.” 

They  did  so,  leaving  the  unfortunate  man  standing  be- 
fore them  just  like  a culprit  schoolboy. 

“I  s’pose  I must  begin  somewheres,”  he  said  feebly. 

When  this  man  was  a clerk  in  the  City  he  used  not  to 
say  “ somewheres,”  but  “somewhere.”  He  had  lost,  among 
other  things,  the  art  of  speaking  correctly,  and  now  spoke 
as  his  companions  for  so  many  years  habitually  spoke.  It 
is  terrifying  to  think  that  any  one  of  us,  under  similar 
conditions,  would  probably  experience  the  same  losses,  and 
come,  in  time,  to  speak  like  a Cockney  coster  or  a Cali- 
fornian rough. 

In  spite  of  the  respectable  clothes  he  wore — Milly  herself 
now  perceived  with  wonder  that  they  were  borrowed 
plumes— the  poor  man  had  so  dejected  and  hang-dog  a 
look  that  one  felt  sorry  for  him.  But  by  this  time  she 
quite  understood  that  something  more  unexpected  even  than 
her  own  wedding  was  to  happen,  and  now  she  connected 
this  walking  Mystery  in  George’s  twee  is  with  the  unex- 
pected, than  which,  as  we  know,  nothing  is  more  certain. 

“When  I went  away,”  this  mysterious  person  began 
slowly,  and  as  if  feeling  for  his  facts,  “I  thought,  being 
a fool  and  inexperienced,  that  if  you  wanted  money  all  you 
had  to  do  was  to  go  to  America,  where  you  would  be  sure 
to  find  it.  Everybody,  I thought,  got  rich  in  the  States. 

It  was  only  the  trouble  of  going  there  and  pickin’  up  the 
dollars.  Lord!  what  a fool  I was!  Don’t  none  of  you  be- 
lieve it.  America’s  the  biggest  fraud  out.  If  anybody 
gets  rich  it’s  the  Americans  themselves.  You’ve  got  to 
work  there  harder  than  at  home.  If  there’s  any  easy 
places  they’re  grabbed  by  the  natives.  Look  at  me.  I gave 
up  three  pound  a week  to  go  out  and  make  a Fortune. 
Did  I ever  get  that  three  pound  a week  again?  Did  I ever 
get  another  easy  place?  Don’t  you  think  it.”  v 

“Isn’t  this,”  asked  Mr.  Richard  unfeelingly,  “rather  a 
roundabout  way  of  beginning?” 

Copernica  looked  from  Milly  to  the  speaker,  and  back 
again.  Strange,  he  was  like  Milly! 

“Thank  you,  sir,”  the  man  replied  humbly.  “I’m 


100 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


cornin’  round  to  what  I want  to  say.  Lemme  go  my  own 
way,  if  you  please.  Though  if  you’ve  a better  way,  tell  me 
that  way,  and  I will  go  that  way.” 

“ You  shall  go  any  way  you  please,”  said  George,  “if 
only  you’ll  get  to  the  end  somehow.” 

“ Thank  you,  sir,”  he  replied,  “you  are  the  only  man 
as  has  said  a kind  word  to  me  for  twenty  years,  and  Pm 
•bound  to  please  that  man  if  I can  ” — he  kept  looking  at 
Milly  furtively — “especially  since  he’s  husband  of  the  little 
maid,”  Milly  started.  “ Very  well,  then.  Hard  berths 
I got,  not  easy  at  all.  Sometimes  it  would  be  porter’s 
work  at  a store.  Did  I expect  when  I gave  up  a most 
gentlemanly  desk  to  go  rolling  casks  of  treacle?  Did  I 
expect  to  load  the  steamboats  with  wood?  Did  I go  out 
there  to  do  odd  chores  around,  a day’s  work  here,  and  an- 
other there,  with  a spade  and  a hoe,  or  a crowbar  and  a 
hammer?  I’ve  been  a navvy  on  a railway;  I’ve  dug  graves 
for  a cemetery;  I’ve  cut  wood  and  stacked  it.  All  the 
hard  jobs  I had  to  do,  while  the  natives  spread  themselves 
out  around  the  stoves  and  put  up  their  feet.  That’s  the 
way  they  reward  a man  who  gives  up  three  pound  a week 
to  go  out  to  them;  that’s  the  kind  of  Fortune  they  let 
him  make;  that’s  the  kind  of  friend  America  is — 
a dollar  and  a hef  a day  and  leave  it  if  you  don’t  like  it: 
there’s  plenty  of  tramps  on  the  road  will  take  it;  that’s 
what  I gave  up  my  berth  for;  that’s  what  Matilda” — 
Milly  started — “my  wife,  Matilda,  sent  me  out  for — said 
I was  bound  to  be  ambitious.  Told  me  I ought  to  soar.” 
“George,”  said  Milly  quickly,  “ who  is  this  man?” 

“ Wait  a moment,  dear.  Go  on,  if  you  can,”  he  said  to 
the  speaker.  I suppose  we  shall  get  to  something  in  time. 
Patience,  Milly  dear.” 

“ I know  who  he  is,”  said  Copernica,  nodding  her  head. 
“ I am  sure  I know.  He  gave  her  away.  Oh,  I see 
'now!” 

“ Well,”  he  continued,  “at  first  I thought  this  was  only 
the  beginning — kind  of  a rough,  hearty,  free  and  easy 
welcome  to  new  comers;  presently  I should  get  the  hang 
of  things,  and  then  I should  begin  to  make  that  Fortune. 
By  this  time  I was  as  ambitious  as  Matilda  could  ha’ 
wished,  because  I wanted  badly  to  get  back  that  three 
pound  a week  with  store  clothes  and  a stove-pipe  hat. 
Then,  I concluded  she’d  be  the  least  mite  anxious  about 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUHE. 


101 


me,  and  so  I wrote  her  a letter.  And  just  to  make  her 
mind  easy  and  to  prevent  herfrom  falling  into  one  of  her 
tempers,  which  she  certainly  would  have  done  if  she’d 
known  I was  just  then  rollin’  molasses,  tyin’  up  sugar, 
heavin’  logs,  and  countin’  candles,  I just  told  her  I 
was  soarin’  already  to  unexpected  heights,  and  the  dol- 
lars cornin’  in  wonderful.  No  country,  I wrote,  like 
America.  She  wrote  back,  by  retnrn  post,  that  I was 
to  send  all  the  money  home  as  fast  as  I made  it.  I said 
’twas  all  wanted  for  the  big  business  I was  carrying  on, 
and  bounced  the  more  because  I saw  she  was  ashamed 
of  having  thought  me  such  a poor  weak  creature.  The 
more  I bounced,  the  more  she  was  ashamed,  and  kept 
a waitin’  to  come  out,  and  bring  the  little  maid  with 
her.” 

“ George,”  cried  Milly  again,  “ who  is  this  man?”  But 
George  made  no  reply. 

“I  know  who  he  is,”  repeated  Copernica;  “ I am  cer- 
tain I know.  4 Matilda  was  in  pink.’  Oh,  I know.” 

“When  a man  begins  to  lie,  it  .seems  kind  of  impos- 
sible to  go  back  on  himself;  so  I kept  it  up,  and  when 
Matilda  died,  I carried  on  the  same  tale  with  the  little 
maid,  whom  I can’t  believe  to  be  grown  up  so  tall  and  hand- 
some, and  married  before  my  very  eyes.” 

“ George,”  cried  Milly  for  the  third  time,  and  springing 
to  her  feet,  “ tell  me,  who  is  he?” 

“ My  dear,  he  is  your  father— not  the  other  man  at  all. 
This  is  your  father.” 

“Yes,  my  dear,”  the  man  repeated  humbly,  “your 
father,  and  you  are  the  little  maid  as  I’ve  written  so  many 
letters  to,  and  told  so  many  lies  about  the  Glorious  Fort- 
une.” 

“ I said  I knew,”  Copernica  murmured.  “ Her  father; 
but  I wonder  who  the  other  is.  You  can’t  have  two 
fathers.” 

“My  father!”  A month  before  Milly  would  have 
jumped  into  his  arms  first,  and  remarked  his  hang-dog 
look  and  poverty-stricken  appearance  afterward.  But  I 
suppose  there  is  only  a limited  amount  of  what  may  be 
called  the  impulse  of  affection  in  the  human  heart.  At  all 
events,  her  own  did  not  leap  up  at  all,  nor  did  she  show 
any  signs  of  joy,  but  held  her  husband’s  hand  more  tight- 
ly, looking  at  this  colossal  American  failure,  the  man  who 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


102 

had  been  twenty  years  wriggling  at  the  lowest  depths, 
and  could  never  wriggle  any  higher,  and  she  repeated  with 
much  more  wonder  than  joy:  “My  father!” 

“ I am,  indeed,”  he  said.  “ I would  have  liked  to  come 
home  in  silks  and  satins  and  gold  rings,  but  I never  had 
any  luck.  I would  have  sent  the  little  maid  all  the  money 
she  could  wish  if  I’d  had  it.  But  I hadn’t  got  any  to 
send.” 

“ George,”  cried  Milly,  “if  this  is  my  father,  who  is — 
the  other?” 

“The  other,  my  dear,  is  a what  you  shall  presently 

learn.” 

“But — but  I have  kissed  him,  and  I was  going  away 
with  him.” 

“ You  were,”  replied  Mr.  Richard,  who,  to  his  honor 
be  it  said,  had  been  witnessing  the  proceedings  with  more 
than  professional  interest,  though  the  morning’s  work 
would  certainly  be  charged  in  the  bill.  “If  it  had  not 
been  for  this  discovery  you  would  have  gone  with  him. 
Fortunately  we  are  in  time  to  save  not  only  you  from  this 
danger,  but  also  your  fortune  from  destruction.” 

“ He  must  be  a rogue  and  a cheat,”  Copernica  said  in 
a low  voice.  “ Then  all  he  told  us  and  all  he  promised 
us  were  lies.  0 — h!  But  I knew  who  this  one  was  di- 
rectly he  began  to  speak.  And  this  is  what  we  were  to 
learn  this  morning.  And  George  knew  it  yesterday.” 

“My  darling,”  said  George,  taking  his  wife’s  hand, 
“ you  understand  now  why  I wanted  to  marry  you  at  once. 
If  it  rains  fathers  they  cannot  harm  you  now  or  take  you 
from  me.  As  for  this  one,  I think  he  will  not  try  to  harm 
you.  He  is  very  different  from  the  other.  To  begin  with, 
he  quite  understands  ” — George  shook  his  left  forefinger 
in  the  direction  of  the  man  as  if  he  were  a lecturer  in  a 
show  and  pronouncing  a discourse  upon  a giant,  a dwarf, 
or  a monster — “ he  quite  understands  that,  after  the  life 
he  has  led,  the  way  he  came  home,  the  habits — the  habits, 
I say” — the  stranger  groaned  and  nodded  gloomily — “ he 
has  contracted,  the  companions  he  has  been  among,  the 
very  language  he  has  learned,  and — and — and  everything, 
it  can  no  longer  be  considered  reasonable  that  you  either 
owe  him  any  obedience,  or  that  he  has  any  claim  upon  your 
affection.  Besides,  he  has  practiced  a most  cruel  and 
heartless  deception  upon  you.”  The  returned  Fortune- 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


103 


hunter  shook  his  head  in  the  deepest  self-reproach,  “ The 
most  he  can  ask  of  you  will  be  your  forgiveness.  As  for 
staying  on  here,  that,  of  course,  is  out  of  the  question ” 

“ Quite,”  said  Johnny.  “ Oh,  quite!  I know  it.” 

“ He  has  been  among  rough  and  common  people  so 
long  that  he  would  feel  unhappy  in  a respectable  English 
house.” 

“ That  is  so,”  said  Johnny. 

“He  has  got,  he  tells  me,  a very  comfortable  clearing 
out  in  the  Western  States  somewhere,  with  a house  upon 
it,  and— -and,  I suppose,  what  is  wanted  to  live  comfort- 
ably.” 

“Don’t  forget  there’s  a whisky-bottle,”  said  Johnny, 
not  boastfully,  but  as  one  who  wishes  to  make  a completely 
clean  breast. 

“ You  see,”  George  went  on,  that  one  fact  illustrating 
the  manner  and  customs  of  the  man,  without  need  of 
further  revelations,  “he  has  a whiskv-bottle.” 

“When  you’ve  got  that,”  said  Johnny,  “you  don’t 
want  anything  else,”  again  not  boastfully  or  ostentatiously, 
but  meaning  to  deliver  himself  of  his  own  sentiments,  and 
show  himself  to  his  daughter,  in  one  full  confession,  the 
man  he  really  was. 

“Oh,  good  gracious!”  said  Copernica;  “nothing  else!” 

“So  that,”  George  continued,  “he  has  agreed  and 
promised  me,  in  point  of  fact,  to  go  away  at  once — this 
very  day — and  get  back  to  his  cabin  and  his  clearing  in 
Oregon,  as  fast  as  he  can.  I do  not  think  he  can  get 
away  much  further  from  us  than  Oregon,  which  is  on  the 
other  side  of  the  Bocky  Mountains.  And  when  he  is 
really  back  again  in  his  own  clearing,  we  shall  be  very 
glad  to  hear  from  him — occasionally.” 

But  Milly’s  heart  softened. 

“If  you  are  really  my  father,”  she  said,  holding  out 
both  her  hands,  “who  used  to  write  me  such  loving  letters, 
you  should  have  something  more  to  say  to  me,  now,  than 
farewell?” 

He  took  her  hand,  and  then  timidly  bent  and  kissed 
her  forehead. 

“My  pretty,”  he  murmured,  “I’m  not  fit  to  be  your 
father.  I doubt  whether  you  ought  to  ha’  let  me  kiss  you. 
I am  only  what  your  husband  says  I am.  But  I meant 


104 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE, 


well.  I did  indeed.  And  they  were  a great  comfort  to 
me — them  letters.” 

He  said  no  more,  but  his  eyes — those  foolish,  helpless, 
and  wandering  eyes — filled  with  tears  and  ran  over.  This 
natural  emotion  was  sufficient  excuse  to  his  daughter  for 
his  shambling  speech  and  ungrammatical  expressions. 
When  had  the  other  man  shown  the  least  emotion? 

“Milly,”  said  Copernica  in  her  quick  way,  “I  suppose 
you’ll  come  home  with  me  if  it  is  only  to  break  the  news 
and  help  unpack  the  maps  again*  How  my  poor  father 
will,  ever  get  over  it,  I don’t  know.  Mother  will  be  pleased, 
I think.  She  never  greatly  took  to  the  plan,  and  I think 
she’ll  be  pleased  to  stay.  But  there,  mother,  you  see, 
doesn’t  much  believe  in  my  father’s  wonderful  discoveries. 
As  for  the  boys,  they  must  just  stay  where  they  are — poor 
fellows!  Well,  I should  be  sorry  to  think  that  poor  Tycho 
was  going  out  to  roll  molasses  tubs,  and  Kepler  to  load  up 
a steamboat  with  wood.  As  to  the  people,”  she  added 
vindictively,  turning  her  glasses  full  on  the  people  re- 
ferred to,  “who  go  abroad  and  come  home  again  without 
the  common  decency  of  being  rich” — -the  returned  pauper 
blushed — “ all  I can  say  is  that  they’re  quite  as  bad  as 
other  people  who  come  home  and  pretend  to  have  colleges, 
and  not  half  so  pleasant,  while  they  last.  What,”  she 
snapped  at  him  so  fiercely  that  he  jumped,  “what  did  you 
go  away  at  all  for,  then?” 


CHAPTER  IX. 

HIS  CHRISTIAN-HAME. 

The  map-room  of  Veritas  Villa  was  stripped  of  every- 
thing. The  maps  and  charts  were  rolled  up,  the  sections 
showing  the  Polar  Sea  and  the  confines  of  the  great  Outer 
Rim,  the  drawings,  drawn  from  the  Scriptural  accounts, 
the  pictures  made  up  from  travelers’  accounts,  the  books, 
all  of  which  were  astronomical,  were  taken  down  and 
packed  in  black  boxes,  locked  up,x  fastened  with  rope,  the 
Professor’s  name  on  them  in  wliite — Professor  Ambler, 
Passenger  for  Colorado,  via  New  York.  Only  the  notes 
for  the  inaugural  lecture  remained,  because  the  Discoverer 
intended  to  touch  up,  beautify,  and  make  perfect  the  in- 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


105 


augural  lecture  during  the  journey.  The  notes  were 
therefore  neatly  stitched  together  and  placed  in  a little 
portfolio  made  on  purpose  for  them  by  Copernica,  out  of 
millboard  and  white  silk,  the  title  being  in  crimson  and 
gold,  and  the  sun,  moon,  and  stars,  which  floated  on  the 
cover,  being  in  blue.  It  was  beautiful  and  soul-inspiring 
even  to  look  at  that  white  silk  portfolio,  and  to  feel  what 
an  Evangel  of  Astronomical  Truth  it  contained,  and  how 
fortunate  were  the  Americans  of  Colorado  State  in  getting 
such  a Discoverer  to  reveal  such  a discovery.  He  sat — the 
Philosopher — among  the  boxes.  He  should  have  been  tri- 
umphant, because  he  was  going  to  get  what  he  had  prayed 
for  all  his  life;  but  there  was  a cloud  upon  his  brow;  he 
was  anxious.  George’s  warning  words  weighed  upon  him 
still. 

His  wife  sat  with  him.  To  her  this  breaking  up  of  the 
old  home,  where  her  children  had  been  born,  where  they 
had  all  been  so  happy,  so  anxious,  so  full  of  love,  fear, 
hope,  joy,  sorrow — all  the  things  which  go  to  make  life  a 
thing  always  felt,  if  not  always  enjoyed,  made  her  pro- 
foundly dejected.  To  be  sure  she  could  not  believe  that 
they  were  really  going. 

“ Reginald,”  she  said  presently,  and  after  a long  silence, 
“ is  it  real?  Are  we  to  have  an  income  of  a thousand  a 
year?” 

“ You  doubt  still,  my  dear.  To  be  sure,  you  have 
doubted  always.” 

“ Not  your  cleverness,  Reginald;  but  I could  not  under- 
stand how  you  alone  could  be  right,  and  all  the  wise  men 
wrong.  Forgive  me,  husband.” 

“It  matters  nothing,”  he  replied  grandly;  “ the  faith 
of  the  whole  world  will  strengthen  your  faith  too.” 

“ But,  George,  my  dear — what  did  George  mean?” 

“ I don’t  know  what  he  meant.  What  he  said  was  silly. 
Why,  he  tried  to  make  out  that  I should  do  better  by 
staying  here.  Staying  here,  where  1 have  had  to  under- 
go every  kind  of  contempt!  What  does  George  think 
about  that?  It  seems  to  him  a light  thing  for  a man 
to  be  held  -up  as  a laughing-stock.  They  have  called  me 
a madman,  they  won’t  answer  my  letters,  they  quote  me 
as  one  of  the  enthusiasts  who  ought  to  be  locked  up,  they 

whisper  if  I get  into  a train;  and  if  I go  to  church ” 

“ You  never  do,  dear.” 


1 


106 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


“ No;  because  when  I do  I hear  them  whispering  as  1 
walk  up  the  aisle:  * There  is  the  madman,,  or  the  fool,  oi 
the  ass,  who  teaches  that  the  earth  is  flat.’  Do  you  think 
that  is  pleasant  for  me  to  hear?  And  then  the  Society 
does  not  increase.  Bagshott  is  very  good,  he  talks  about 
Truth  prevailing;  but  Truth  doesn’t  make  a start.  The 
office-boy  says  that  no  one  has  called  for  six  months,  and 
there  have  been  no  letters  for  three.  The  office  might  a* 
well  be  shut.  Bagshott  says  he  will  remain  at  home  and 
circulate  the  journal,  which  I shall  be  able  to  fill  once  I 
get  a hearing.  Why,  out  there,  oh,  wife,  I shall  have  a 
hearing  at  last!” 

He  sprang  from  his  chair  and  walked  about,  swinging 
his  arms  and  sending  his  coat-tails  flying — a sure  sign  of 
the  deepest  emotion. 

His  wife  threw  her  arms  round  his  neck. 

“My  dear,”  she  said,  “it  is  sad  to  me  that  our  home 
should  be  broken  up.  But  what  matters  anything  if  only 
you  get  the  recognition  which  is  your  due?” 

“ Ah,”  he  continued,  “ we  shall  begin  a new  life  with 
an  honorable  position,  an  official  and  recognized  posi- 
tion which  must  command — I say,  my  dear,  command; 
hitherto  we  have  begged — the  attention  even  of  old- 
fashioned  astronomers.  Oh,  wife,  do  you  not  think 
1 have  felt  the  ignominy  of  my  life  which  I thought 
was  going  to  be  so  glorious?  Fifty  years  old  next  birth- 
day, and  nearly  thirty  given  to  the  Great  Discovery,  and 
Error  still  taught  in  every  school,  though  I have  never 
ceased  to  lift  up  my  voice.  Here,  what  hope  have  I? 
But  there! — oh,  there!  with  young  and  generous  hearts, 
unprejudiced,  open  to  reason,  what  future  awaits  me  there!” 

He  stopped,  clapped  his  hand  to  his  eyes  as  one  who  is 
dazzled  by  the  prospect,  and  sat  down.  His  wife  listened 
and  sighed.  She  had  never  before,  perhaps,  so  fully  real- 
ized her  husband’s  position  and  enthusiasm;  she  sighed 
because  the  thought  would  intrude  itself  that  something 
safe  in  the  City  would  have  been  worth  all  the  glory  that 
science  can  confer.  This  is  the  way  with  mothers  who 
have  a large  family  and  a small  income;  they  would  at  any 
moment  actually  sacrifice  all  the  immortality  about  to  bo 
conferred  by  a grateful  posterity  on  their  husbands  in  re- 
turn for  a solid  income;  they  think  that  there  is  nothing 
in  the  world  like  domestic  ease,  comfort,  and  a good  house 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


107 


allowance;  nothing  like  bringing  up  the  boys  and  girls  well, 
and  giving  them  a good  start  in  life.  If  that  great  man,  their 
father,  cannot  do  that,  why,  a thousand  pities  that  glory 
and  an  income  do  not  go  together!  Perhaps  the  reason 
why  the  children  of  great  men  do  not  often  become  them- 
selves great  is  that  the  family  income  would  not  allow  of 
the  first  elements  of  greatness  being  properly  taught. 

“The  boys  like  the  prospect/7  said  their  mother,  dubi- 
ously. “We  could  not  go  without  them,  but  Tycho  is 
getting  on  so  well;  and  we  have  such  good  reports  about 
Kepler.77 

“ They  will  get  on  better,  under  Mr.  Montoro’s  patron- 
age. Everybody  gets  on  in  America;  the  Americans  wel- 
come Englishmen;  they  give  them  their  best  things;  they 
smooth  the  way  for  them  to  get  on.  Mr.  Montoro  says 
so,  and  he  ought  to  know.  Look  at  his  example.  My 
dear,  I have  always  been  a republican,  I believe.  It  will 
be  a congenial  atmosphere.77  He  threw  out  his  arms  as  if 
to  breathe  the  stimulating  and  bracing  air  of  a Kepublic. 
“ It  is  only  under  such  a government  that  Prejudice  van- 
ishes and  Truth  can  win  her  way.  You  will  see  very  clearly 
that  in  astronomy  the  great  heart  of  the  American  people 
will  soon  beat  true  and  sound.77 

Just  then  Copernica  appeared.  She  was  returned  from 
the  wedding.  Her  cheeks  were  flushed,  her  eyes  red,  and 
the  traces  of  tears  lay  upon  her  spectacles.  She  stole  in 
like  a guilty  criminal,  and  sank  upon  one  of  the  boxes  in 
a fine  unstudied  attitude  of  despair. 

“Papa,77  she  said,  “we  may  begin  to  unpack  our  boxes 
at  once.77  She  jumped  up  and  began  to  untie  the  cords 
with  feverish  haste.  “Let  us  put  back  the  maps  and 
books,  and  go  on  as  we  used  to.  There  will  be  no  going 
to  America.77 

“Copernica,  are  you  mad?77 

The  Discoverer  turned  pale  and  trembled. 

“I  am  not  mad,77  she  replied.  “ In  a little  while  you 
will  hear  all.  It  is  enough  to  make  one  mad,  but  I am 
in  my  senses.77 

At  this  moment  the  Benefactor  himself  appeared  with 
a white  rosebud  in  his  button-hole,  a white  waistcoat,  and 
brand-new  hat  and  lavender  gloves.  No  one  could  look 
richer  than  Mr.  Montoro.  Perhaps  he  overdid  the  part. 
Very  rich  men,  if%I  may  generalize  from  a limited  field  of 


108 


A Glorious  fortune. 


observation,  generally  wear  shabby  hats  and  are  careless 
about  their  gloves.  But  at  Veritas  Villa  they  were  not 
close  observers.  At  sight  of  him,  so  glossy,  so  well  groom- 
ed, so  prosperous  and  sleek,  so  confident  and  so  brave,  tho 
Philosopher  recovered  heart. 

But  his  wife  caught  Copernica  by  the  hand,  and  watch- 
ed, her  suspicions  fully  aroused. 

“I  shall  not  keep  you  long,  Professor,”  he  said,  smil- 
ing. “All  goes  well  with  the  preparations?  The  day 
after  to-morrow,  Milly  and  I shall  be  on  salt  water.  Your 
cousin  is  coming  here  at  twelve  to  complete  the  sale  of  my 
little  property.  He  told  you?” 

“ Yes,  yes,”  the  Professor  wiped  his  brow — all  would  be 
well,  surely.  “Yes,  Dick  said  I was  to  be  in  the  way. 
To  be  sure,  I am  always  at  home.” 

“It  is  a bore,”  said  Mr.  Montoro,  “that  one  cannot 
take  a house  and  sell  it  as  one  sells  a horse.  The  affair 
has  been  dragging  for  three  weeks,  and  every  week  means 
loss  when  one’s  concerns  are  so  vast  as  mine.  Money,  mv 
friend,  even  the  richest  of  us  cannot  afford  to  lose,  and  yet 
I believe  I have  lost  more  by  the  delay  than  if  I had  given 
the  houses  away.  Milly  will  come  with  me,  after  we  have 
finished,  to  complete  her  outfit  in  Begent  Street.” 

“Why,”  said  the  Professor,  “this  little  girl  of  mine 
came  running  in  five  minutes  ago,  crying  that  we  should 
not  go  to  America  at  all.” 

“Nor  more  we  shaVt,”  said  Copernica  doggedly  and 
idiomatically. 

Mr.  Montoro’s  eyes  flashed. 

“ What  does  the  girl  mean?”  he  asked. 

“ We  shall  not  go  to  America,”  she  repeated. 

Mr.  Montoro  hesitated.  What  did  she  mean?  It  puz- 
zled him.  At  this  moment  he  had  not  the  slightest  fear 
or  suspicion  of  danger,  yet  the  girl’s  words  troubled  him. 
What  did  she  mean?  In  his  pocket  was  the  check  for  the 
whole  of  his  victim’s  fortune.  In  a few  moments  he  was 
to  receive  the  produce  of  the  sale  of  his  liouses  which  were 
not  his  to  sell.  In  another  day  he  was  to  start  for  Amer- 
ica, taking  with  him  the  girl  whom  he  proposed  to  em- 
ploy as  a confederate  and  a decoy. 

The  moralist  may  pause  to  remark  that  the  whole  of 
this  villainous  scheme  had  grown  up  bit  by  bit  from  the 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


109 


robbery"of  the  notes  and  the  letters.  Thus  does  one  ill  weed 
produce  another,  till  the  whole  garden  is  overrun. 

“ Of  course  you  will  please  yourselves  about  coming 
out.  But  I thought  you  had  accepted  my  offer,  Mr. 
Ambler.55 

The  coldness  of  his  tone  frightened  the  Astronomer. 

“ Of  course  I have  accepted,55  he  hastened  to  make  sub- 
mission; “ of  course  I have  accepted.  Why,  the  child  is 
mad!  I do  not  know  what  has  possessed  her  this  moaning. 
Don’t  be  offended,  Mr.  Montoro.55 

“And  yet  we  shall  not  go,55  repeated  this  amazing  girl. 

Just  then,  at  the  stroke  of  twelve,  Mr.  Richard  Ambler 
arrived,  bearing  his  bundle  of  papers.  With  him  were 
Milly  and  George. 

It  was  remarked  by  Mrs.  Ambler  that  Milly  bestowed 
no  greeting  upon  her  father.  She,  too,  exhibited  outward 
and  visible  signs  that  something  had  happened.  Her 
father,  however,  seemed  to  observe  nothing. 

“Now,55  he  said,  “let  us  finish  the  business.” 

“ Your  business,55  replied  the  solicitor,  “ shall  be  settled 
in  a very  few  moments.55 

He  stood  at  the  table,  the  papers  in  his  hand,  at  the 
right  of  the  Discoverer,  who  sat  in  his  wooden  chair,  look- 
ing on  with  troubled  eyes,  because  things  were  going  on 
which  he  understood  not.  On  his  left  stood  Mr.  Mon- 
toro. Behind  the  solicitor  was  Milly,  George  standing 
beside  her,  and  in  the  window  Copernica  and  her  mother. 
Then  there  was  a hush  while  Mr.  Richard  read  over  his 
papers. 

“ I must  trouble  you,  Mr. — ah! — Mr.  Montoro,55 he  said, 
“with  a little  business  first.  I have  received  your  rents 
for  a good  many  years.  I have  here  a complete  state- 
ment, with  vouchers  of  the  receipts  and  disbursements  for 
years.55 

“ I don’t  want  to  see  it,55  Mr.  Montoro  replied.  “ I 
really  have  not  the  time  to  look  into  these  trifles.55 

“ A hundred  and  eighty  pounds  a year,  or  thereabouts,” 
said  Mr.  Richard,  “is  not  a trifle.  But  if  you  will  not 
examine  the  account,  you  will  not  perhaps  object  to  give 
me  a discharge  in  full  of  all  claims.  My  cousin,  as  you 
know,  has  received  the  whole  income,  after  paying  ground- 
rents,  repairs,  and  my  own  charges,  for  the  maintenance 
and  education  of  Miss  Montoro.” 


110  A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 

“ Let  us  sign  this  discharge  and  get  on,”  said  his  client. 
He  took  the  paper  offered  him  and  wrote  his  name  at 
the  end  of  the  form — “ Charles  Montoro.” 

“ Thank  you,”  said  Mr.  Richard.  “Only,  pardon  me, 
in  legal  documents  it  is  necessary  to  sign  the  name  in  full. 
Is  this  your  only  Christian  name?” 

The  effect  of  these  words  was  wonderful.  For  suddenly 
the  man  remembered  the  rambling  talk  of  Johnny  in  his 
cabin  about  his  ridiculous  Christian-name.  He  had  for- 
gotten to  find  out  what  it  was.  He  changed  color  and 
glanced  round  him  like  a wild  creature  at  bay.  In  the 
grave  face  of  the  solicitor,  the  angry  looks  of  George 
Ambrose,  and  the  cold  eyes  of  Milly  he  saw  that  the  game, 
somehow,  was  up. 

“ We  will  have  both  your  Christian  names,  Mr. — ah! — 
Mr.  Montoro.” 

“Both  my  names?”  He  seized  the  pen  again.  “Give 
me  the  paper  back.  I am  to  sign  here,  am  I — and  in 
full?  Very  good.  Milly,  my  dear,  were  you  ever  told 
your  father’s  ridiculous  Christian-name?”  Milly  made  no 
reply.  “ Do  you  know  it,  Mr.  Ambler?  I think  I would 
bet  you  five  dollars  that  you  do  not  know  it.” 

“I  do  know  it,”  said  Mr.  Richard.  “The  point  is, 
that  you  do  not.” 

Mr.  Montoro  threw  down  the  pen  and  tore  the  paper 
across,  with  a remark  about  the  Christian-name  which  is 
generally  expressed  by  a long  black  line. 

“ Tell  me,  if  you  please,  what  this  means?” 

“It  means  many  things.  But,  first  of  all,  is  it  not  an 
unusual  thing  for  a man  to  forget  his  Christian-name? 
You  may  learn  yours  by  looking  at  the  register  in  Hack- 
ney Church,  where  you  were  christened  and  married. 
You  are  welcome  to  that  information.  Did  you  ever  know 
a case  in  which  a man  forgot  his  Christian-name?” 

“This  is  a most  extraordinary  proceeding,”  said  Mr. 
Montoro,  recovering  his  coolness.  “Is  there  anything 

more  to  follow?  Milly,  are  you ” She  turned  her 

head  and  made  no  sign  of  hearing.  “ Is  this  a conspiracy, 
in  which  my  own  daughter  is  concerned?  Are  you  in  it, 
too,  you  driveling  old  idiot?”  He  looked  so  fierce  as  he 
addressed  the  Discoverer,  who  jumped  in  his  chair,  and 
was  seized  with  a mighty  terror. 

“ We  are  all  in  it,  except  Mr.  Ambler,”  said  George. 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


Ill 


“In  that  case,”  Mr.  Montoro  replied  with  dignity, 
“ there  is  nothing  for  it  but  to  set  the  law  at  work.  You, 
sir,”  he  addressed  Mr.  Richard,  “ will  have  to  give  an  ac- 
count of  your  management;  part  of  the  plot,  I suppose, 
was  to  say  nothing  about  it.  Your  share,”  he  addressed 
George,  “was  the  house  property.  Yours,”  he  addressed 
Milly,  “ was  to  aid  and  abet  your  lover.  An  ungrateful 
and  unnatural  daughter.” 

“Go  on,”  said  George;  “my  turn  will  come  directly.” 

“ I have  nothing  more  to  say,”  Mr.  Montoro  replied, 
taking  his  hat.  “ So  far  as  I am  concerned  this  is  the 
last  time  I shall  speak  with  anybody  in  this  room.  The 
law  shall  take  its  course.” 

“By  all  means,”  said  Mr.  Richard.  “First,  however, 
George,  you  wished  to  tell  the  man  what  we  know  about 
him.” 

“ I will  tell  Reginald  in  his  presence,”  said  George.  He 
took  up  his  position  at  the  door  as  if  to  bar  escape.  “This 
man,  Reginald,  is  not  Charles  Montoro  at  all — he  is  an 
impostor  and  a pretender — his  real  name  is  Percival  Brooke 
West;  he  was  once  a gentleman,  and  in  the  army,  but  sold 
out  many  years  ago,  after  the  Crimean  War;  he  then  lived 
about  town,  gambling  and  throwing  away  his  money. 
Fifteen  years  ago  he  got  into  a mess,  and  did  something — 
I know  not  what — something  disgraceful.  Then  he  was 
obliged  to  fly,  and  was  expelled  his  club.  He  went  to 
America,  and  has  lived  on  his  wits,  that  is  to  say  by  cheat- 
ing and  gambling  in  various  forms.  He  met  Milly’s  father 
in  Oregon,  robbed  him  of  his  money  and  his  daughter’s 
letters,  and  came  to  London.  He  now  lives  at  the  Lang- 
ham  Hotel  under  his  own  name.  No,  sir,  you  stay  until  I 
have  finished.  If  you  try  to  get  out  before  we  let  you  go, 
you  will  have  to  fight  me.” 

The  Claimant  folded  his  arms,  and  tried  to  look  uncon- 
cerned, but  he  failed,  because  he  was  totally  unprepared 
for  this.  How  on  earth  had  they  found  it  out?  As  re- 
gards the  Christian-name,  that  was  an  accident  caused  bv 
his  own  carelessness;  he  ought  to  have  foreseen  this  dan- 
ger; it  was  a most  foolish  thing  to  forget.  Bat  the  array 
of  facts — how  had  they  got  hold  of  them?  And  he  re- 
membered, too  late,  what  he  had  at  the  very  outset  pro- 
posed to  himself,  namely,  to  rush  the  thing  through,  and 
be  off  before  any  questions  could  arise.  Better,  far  better, 


I , * > 

112  A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 

had  lie  not  been  tempted  by  this  dream  of  gambling  in  its 
higher  branches,  with  a beautiful  woman  to  help  him. 
Better  had  he  been  contented  with  the  plunder  of  Milly’s 
houses,  and  made  no  attempt  upon  the  poor  astronomer. 
But  he  had  his  check  in  his  pocket  that  moment.  When 
he  got  away  he  would  drive  straight  to  the  bank:  perhaps 
it  would  not  be  too  late. 

“ You  see,”  George  concluded,  “you  are  known.” 

“ 1 see,”  he  replied,  “ that  you  have  conspired  together 
to  make  up  a story.  Now,  if  you  please,  we  will  conclude 
this  scene.  But  do  not  imagine  that  I am  going  to  let 
you  have  my  property.” 

“ One  moment.  We  shall  not  keep  you  much  longer.” 
George  opened  the  door,  and  admitted  the  lawful  owner 
of  the  name  of  Montoro,  “ You  know  this  man,  per- 
haps.” 

“ Oh,”  said  the  Colonel,  “you  have  got  hold  of  Johnny, 
have  you!  That  explains  it.  So  you  made  your  way 
home,  Johnny,  did  you?  Now  I understand  it  all,  and  1 
suppose  the  game  is  up.” 

“ Colonel,”  said  Johnny,  with  a show  of  courage,  “ give 
me  back  my  money  and  my  letters.” 

“As  for  the  letters,”  the  Colonel  took  out  his  pocket- 
book;  here  they  are;  I have  no  longer  any  use  for  them. 
As  for  the  money,  it  was  no  more  yours  than  mine.  You 
have  now  got  your  cabin  and  }our  clearing.  Be  content 
with  it,  unless  you  prefer  to  stay  at  home  with  the  most 
dutiful  daughter  in  the  world,  and  the  most  delightful 
son-in-law.  They  will  be  as  charmed  with  your  personal 
habits  as  you  will  be  with  the  young  man’s  manners. 
You  were  made  for  each  other.” 

He  tossed  the  letters  across  the  table.  Johnny  seized 
them,  and  crammed  them  into  his  pockets. 

“ Can  you  tell  me  your  Christian-name  before  we  break 
up  this  meeting?” 

“ They  baptized  me  Worshipful  Charles,”  said  Johnny. 
“ Colonel,  don’t  keep  all  the  money.” 

“Worshipful  Charles!”  the  Colonel  repeated.  “Now, 
Mr.  Richard  Ambler,  could  any  one  gness  such  a fool  of  a 
name  as  that?  Worshipful  Charles!  It’s  enough  to  turn 
any  man  into  such  a Johnny  as  this  poor  creature.  Milly, 
you  will  learn  to  love  your  new  father  more  and  more  the 
longer  you  know  him.  He  is  as  brave  as  he  is  truthful; 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUtfE. 


113 


he  is  as  warlike  as’he  is  clear-sighted;  he  is  as  temperate 
as  he  is  resolute;  he  hates  whisky  as  he  hates  the  sin  of 
falsehood;  and  he  is  as  rich  as  I am  myself.  As  for  the 
houses 7” 

“Matilda's  houses/’ said  Johnny;  “they’re  the  little 
maid’s  now,  not  mine  at  all.  Colonel,  don’t  be  hard  on  a 
man.  I’m  a peaceful  man,  but  don’t  keep  all  them 
notes.” 

“Peaceful!  Good  Lord!”  cried  George.  “Is  there  a 
single  kick  in  the  whole  man?  He  robs  you  of  your 
money,  he  tries  to  rob  you  of  your  daughter,  he  has  ah 
most  robbed  her  of  her  little  fortune,  and  you  call  your- 
self a peaceful  man.” 

“It  pays  best,”  Johnny  replied.  “I’ve  got  through 
life  comfortably  through  being  peaceful,  with  lots  of  fight- 
ing men,  stickers  and  shooters,  around  all  the  time. 
Colonel,  say  you  won’t  keep  it  all.” 

“Good  Heavens!”  cyied  George  again,  “ why,  you  ought 
to  give  him  in  charge.  You  should  follow  him  to  his 
hotel,  and  go  with  him  wherever  he  goes  until  he  gives 
you  back  the  money.” 

“ That  is  what  you  would  do,  my  fine  fellow,”  said  the 
Colonel.  “ I wish  I had  you  out  in  the  West,  I would 
make  you  dance,  my  cocky  little  clerk  with  the  bantam 
crow.” 

“And  I,  Mr.  Brooke  West,  would  make  you  hang.” 

“Hush!  You  don’t  know,”  said  Johnny.  “Oh,  you 
don’t  guess  what  it  is  to  fight  a man  like  the  Colonel. 
No,  no,  speak  him  fair.  You  will  find  him  very  good 
company,  too,”  he  added  without  much  fitness  as  far  as 
anyone  could  tell.  But  doubtless  in  his  mind  there  was 
some  sort  of  connection. 

“There  are  difficulties,  Mr.  Ambrose,”  the  Colonel 
went  on.  He  was  quite  easy  and  comfortable  in  his  man- 
ner now,  having  made  up  his  mind  that  it  was  quite  use- 
less to  carry  on  the  game  any  longer.  “ There  are  diffi- 
culties which  you  do  not  understand.  Our  gallant  and 
daring  friend  Johnny,  or  Worshipful  Charles,  claims  some 
money.  He  must  first  prove  that  he  lost  that  money; 
next,  that  I took  that  money;  and  thirdly,  that  it  was  his 
money.” 

“I  found  it,”  said  Johnny. 


114 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUKE. 


“ A very  likely  story.  Now,  is  there  anything  more 
you  wish  to  say,  Mr.  Ambrose,  or  any  of  you?” 

At  this  point  the  Great  Discoverer,  who  had  been  listen- 
ing in  an  abject  state  of  confusion,  bewilderment,  and 
terror,  began  to  realize  something  of  the  situation. 

“ George,”  he  pointed  to  the  new  comer,  “ who,  after 
all,  is  this  gentleman?” 

“ This  is  Milly’s  father,  Reginald.  Do  you  not  under- 
stand?” 

“ The  place  in  his  college  has  been  offered  to  me.  He 
knows  that,  I suppose?” 

“Oh,  papa,”  cried  Copernica,  “there  is  no  college — 
there  is  no  Fortune.  This  poor  man  is  a beggar  and  a 
pauper;  all  that  was  said  about  the  Fortune  was  false, 
wasn’t  it,  you  Mr.  Montoro?” 

He  shook  his  head. 

“All  lies,”  he  replied. 

“ Oh!”  the  Discoverer  sprang  from  his  chair  and  liter- 
ally hurled  himself  upon  the  Colonel.  He  was  not  a fight- 
ing man,  but  his  whole  thought  was  not  to  let  him  go; 
therefore,  he  threw  his  arms  round  his  neck  and  hung  on. 
“Hold  him — keep  him  from  running  away!”  he  screamed. 
“He  has  got  a check  for  all  my  money — all  my  money 
— in  his  pocket — all  my  money!”  he  realJy  shrieked  in  his 
agony,  thinking  that  he  had  made  his  wife  and  children 
penniless. 

“ Let  him  go,  Reginald,”  said  his  cousin;  “let  him  go. 
Your  money  is  safe.”  They  dragged  him,  crying  out  for 
his  money,  from  his  enemy.  “ Your  money  is  quite  safe. 
You  see,  cousin,  I naturally  thought  when  you  sent  me 
instructions  to  sell  out,  that  you  were  up  to  some  foolish- 
ness, so  I took  the  liberty  of  delaying  the  business.  Your 
stock,  my  poor  cousin,  still  stands  to  your  name,  and  your 
check  is  worthless.” 

“Richard,”  said  Mrs.  Ambler,  who  had  been  looking  on 
with  an  earnest  desire  for  all  to  go  away,  so  that  she  could 
begin  to  make  things  as  they  used  to  be — “ Richard,  I 
shall  be  grateful  to  you  for  my  whole  life.” 

“In  that  case,”  said  the  Colonel,  adjusting  his  rosebud, 
which  had  been  slightly  bruised  in  the  struggle,  “in  that 
case,  let  us  tear  it  up.”  He  took  it  out  of  his  pocket- 
book  and  did  so.  “And  now,  I am  afraid  there  remains 
nothing  but  to  unpack  your  boxes  and  put  up  your  maps 


A GLORIOUS  EORTUHE. 


iis 


again.  But  you  have  my  free  permission  to  quote  my 
case  as  that  of  a Recruit  won  over  by  force  of  reason  and 
argument.  If  I can  flatten  the  earth  a little  more  for 
you  in  any  part  of  it,  I shall  willingly  do  so.  Nothing 
more,  I think?” 

“ Richard,”  said  Mrs.  Ambler,  “ please  make  Reginald’s 
money  so  that  he  can  never  touch  any  of  it  again.” 

‘‘Except  a criminal  prosecution  for  conspiring  to  obtain 
money  under  false  pretenses,”  said  Mr.  Richard. 

“ Yes,  that  I fully  expect.  This  witness,”  he  pointed 
to  Johnny,  “ will  be  invaluable  to  you,  will  he  not?  Good- 
by,  Milly;  I wish  you,  for  your  husband’s  sake,  your 
mother’s  te m pe r — good  ■ by . ” 

“ Good  Heavens!”  said  Mrs.  Ambler,  “ we  were  within 
a day  of  being  beggars.  Oh,  Copernica!” 

He  put  on  his  hat  and  was  about  to  go,  when  the  door 
opened  and  a lady  of  middle-age,  very  stout,  and  extremely 
dignified  in  her  bearing,  dressed  in  gorgeous  silks,  ap- 
peared. 

“ Where,”  she  said,  looking  round  the  room,  “is  my 
brother-in-law,  Charles  Montoro?” 

“Your  brother-in-law,  madam?”  asked  the  Colonel. 
“Is  Worshipful  Charles  your  brother-in-law?  Do  you 
mean  the  rich,  the  successful — the  enormously  rich  and 
successful  Worshipful  Charles  Montoro?” 

“ Certainly  I do.  Milly,  my  dear,  is  this  gentleman 

your  father?  He  does  not  look ” 

“Behold  him!  Come  Johnny.”  The  Colonel  seized 
the  man  of  peace,  who  had  shown,  at  sight  of  the  new 
comer,  a desire  to  hide  himself  behind  Mr.  Richard,  and 
dragged  him  forward.  “ Your  sister-in-law — perhaps 
Matilda’s  sister  who  married  into  carriage  company.” 

“ Oh,  Lord!  It  is  P’leena,”  said  Johnny  looking  hor- 
ribly guilty. 

“My  dear  Aunt  Paulina,”  Milly  stepped  forward, 
“ there  has  been  a very  great  mistake.  My  father  has 
not  made  the  great  Fortune  we  all  thought  he  had.  He 
has  failed  and  is  very  poor,  in  fact  he  is  going  back  to 
America,  where  he  has  a small  farm.  All  our  plans  are 
changed,  and  I was  married  this  morning  to  George 
Ambrose.” 

“No  Fortune?  No  money  made?  You  a pauper, 


ne 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


Charles?”  the  lady  grew  very  red.  “ Explain  this  decep- 
tion, pray.  Milly,  I demand  an  explanation.5 5 

“ It  is  P5leena!55  Johnny  repeated. 

“ There  is  none  to  make,  aunt,  except  what  I have  told 
you — my  father  is  not  rich.55 

“ I have  driven  all  the  way  from  Wimbledon  to  be  con- 
fronted with  a Pauper!55  said  this  amiable  lady,  “ after 
what  I have  been  given  to  understand.  And  you,  Milly, 
have  actually  married  without  consulting  me,  your  only 
respectable  relation!  Pray,  what  is  your  husband?55 

“I  am  a clerk,55  said  George  unblushingly. 

“Henceforth,  Milly,55  said  the  outraged  lady,  “go  your 
own  way.  You  have  no  more  ambition  than  your  father. 
A Pauper!55  She  withered  the  luckless  Johnny.  “ It  is 
enough  to  make  my  poor  deceived,  unfortunate  sister 
Matilda  turn  in  the  grave  into  which  you  have  worried 
her.  After  all  that  has  been  done  for  you,  Milly,  you 
marry  a clerk!55 

She  walked  out,  and  the  next  moment  they  heard  the 
wheels  of  her  carriage  driving  her  away. 

“ This  is  very  amusing,55  said  the  Colonel.  “ I con- 
gratulate you,  Johnny,  on  your  reception  by  your  friends. 
Nothing  like  the  domestic  affections,  is  there?  Now  I am 
going.  My  cab  is  outside.  Would  you  like  a lift  to  town, 
Johnny,  just  to  talk  about  those  notes?  We  shall  agree 
very  well  together,  once  we  get  away  from  mischievous 
pettifoggers  and  greedy  clerks.55 

Johnny  followed  unresisting.  He  could  not  resist  the 
Colonel.  He  did  not  even  say  good-by  to  his  daughter, 
but  went  without  a word. 

Milly  expected  her  father  to  return  that  day,  and  the 
next,  and  the  day  after.  Then  George  went  to  the  Lang- 
ham  and  inquired.  Mr.  Brooke  West  was  gone,  and 
nothing  w.as  known  of  any  Mr.  Montoro.  What  happened 
was  very  simple.  The  Colonel  drove  his  friend  Johnny 
to  Wapping,  or  the  neighborhood.  There  he  gave  him 
dinner,  with  copious  whisky.  He  then  found  out  a 
steamer  going  to  sail  to  New  York  the  next  day.  He  per- 
suaded Johnny,  without  the  least  difficulty,  that  his  only 
chance  was  to  get  back  to  Oregon  with  all  speed,  lest 
gomebody  should  take  possession  of  his  clearing,  and  that 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


117 


ten  pounds,  as  an  advance,  would  quite  cover  any  claims 
he  might  have  on  account  of  that  bundle  of  notes.  He 
nursed  Johnny  all  that  day,  keeping  him  happy  witli 
whisky  and  amused  with  continual  talk.  In  the  morning 
he  took  him  on  board,  and  did  not  leave  him  until  the 
last  bell  rang  and  the  last  visitor  had  to  descend  the  com- 
panion. In  fact,  he  was  the  last,  and  as  he  went  down, 
Johnny  was  feebly  hanging  over  the  bulwarks,  waving  his 
hat  in  a friendly  farewell.  Never  was  such  a Johnny 
known. 

I believe  that  he  is  now  sitting  by  himself  in  the  shade 
beside  his  cabin,  listening  contentedly  to  the  murmur  of 
the  stream,  and  regarding  through  the  door  with  senti- 
mental admiration  a distant  view  of  the  whisky-bottle  on 
the  table. 

As  for  the  Astronomer,  it  took  him  many  days  to  re- 
cover even  the  semblance  of  dignity  and  self-respect.  He 
was  crushed;  he  did  not  dare  to  face  the  boys,  who  were 
reduced  to  mere  rags  of  despair  and  wrath.  Copernica 
took  her  father  to  the  seaside  at  Walton-on-Naze,  where 
he  amused  himself  by  considering  the  flatness  of  the  ocean, 
and  so  gradually  pulled  round.  He  has  now  entirely  re- 
covered, because  he  has  made  converts  of  two  ladies — sis- 
ters— with  money.  They  are  convinced  that  he  is  not 
only  right  and  a very  great  Discoverer  indeed,  but  also 
that  he  is  mentioned  in  Prophecy,  and  will  be  connected 
with  the  end  of  the  world.  They  talk  of  leaving  him  all 
their  money  for  the  purpose  of  disseminating  the  truth. 
He  has  begun  a new  chapter  on  the  flatness  of  the  earth, 
and  has  promised  a Speculation  on  the  Outer  Eim.  Some- 
times, however,  the  healed  wound  breaks  out  afresh,  and 
Jhe  remembers  with  shame  and  sorrow  how  he  was  cajoled 
and  deceived,  and  how  he  was  ready  to  part  with  the 
whole  of  his  fortune  to  an  unscrupulous  adventurer  and 
cheat. 

I ought  to  leave  the  Colonel  to  his  own  devices.  In 
novels  he  would  have  gone  back  to  America,  there  to  lose 
all  his  ill-gotten  money  on  euchre  and  a black  bottle; 
after  this  he  would  have  become  once  more  adventurer, 
sportsman,  and  card-sharper;  and  he  would  have  been 
finally  hanged  for  horse-stealing,  or  shot  for  cheating  at 


118 


A GLORIOUS  FORTUNE. 


monte.  I beg  to  explain  that  Mr.  Percival  Brooke  West 
did  nothing  of  the  kind. 

Johnny  dispatched,  he  sat  down  to  think. 

First  of  all  he  had  not  done  so  badly  since  he  had  man- 
aged to  get  into  his  little  gambling  circle.  The  stolen 
eight  hundred  pounds  had  increased  to  more  than  a thou- 
sand, without  deducting  his  personal  expenses.  And  ho 
felt  that  he  could  not  possibly  return  to  the  old  life. 
And  then  he  remembered  that  he  had  a mother  and  sisters. 

They  lived  by  the  seaside  in  a pretty  cottage — a widow 
woman  and  two  elderly  daughters.  They  are  quite  well- 
to-do  people,  and  until  the  autumn  of  this  year  of  grace, 
eighteen  hundred  and  eighty-three,  they  lamented  con- 
tinually the  absence  of  the  son  and  brother  who  had  turn- 
ed out  so  badly,  and  been  so  “extravagant” — that  is  how 
they  put  it;  but  though  they  knew  nothing  for  certain, 
they  were  aware  that  there  had  been  more  than  extrava- 
gance. 

One  morning  in  September  the  prodigal  came  home. 

“Mother,”  he  said,  “let  us  have  no  talk  of  the  past. 
I have  had  time  to  sow  my  wild  oats.  I have  saved,  at  the 
expense  of  many  privations  and  great  resolution,  a small 
sum  of  money  to  come  home  with.  Let  me  stay  a little 
while  with  you  and  my  sisters  before  I go  back  to  the 
struggle.” 

He  had  grown  his  gray  beard  again,  looked  quite  gentle 
and  humble,  and  spoke  so  kindly  that  their  hearts  were 
melted. 

Let  him  stay?  Will  they  ever  let  him  go?  And  if  a 
tiger  be  well  fed,  regularly  fed,  and  kept  warm,  and  given 
all  that  he  wants,  that  tiger,  in  course  of  time,  will  become, 
if  you  please,  a mere  tame  cat.  He  will  undergo  this 
transformation  without  any  repentance,  tears,  remorse, 
sorrow,  self-reproach,  penitence,  or  lamentations  of  a sin- 
ner, but  comfortably,  gradually,  and  smoothly.  In  course 
of  time,  Mr,  Percival  Brooke  West  will,  I dare  say,  inherit 
his  mother’s  property.  He  will  not  return  to  town,  where 
his  late  reception  inspired  him  with  a dislike  for  Clubland, 
but  will  remain  in  the  country,  and  will  become  an  author- 
ity on  whist;  he  will  be  popular  among  many  as  he  grows 
older,  on  account  of  his  strange  experiences  and  his  varied 
stories  of  travel  and  adventure;  and  though  in  course  of 


A GLORIOUS  RORTUKU. 


119 


time  there  may  come  into  the  country  rumors  of  wild  youth 
and  excesses,  followed  by  trouble,  no  one  will  believe  that 
he  was  ever  anything  but  an  honorable  gentleman,  with  as 
fair  a record  as  falls  to  the  lot  of  most,  though  perhaps  he 
lost  his  money,  and  had  to  go  abroad  for  a time  to  make 
more. 

But  Milly  and  her  husband  abide  by  the  banks  of  the  gen- 
tle river  Lea,  and  are  contented,  and  he  hopes  to  do  such 
great  things  in  the  future  as  will  lead  him  to  the  gate  of 
honor  and  the  way  of  wealth. 


THE  E HD. 


The  Difference. 

Sweet  Boston  Girl : 

O Papa,  I’ve  a new 
conundrum  for  you.” 

Fond  Papa  “What 
is  it,  my  daughter  ?” 

S.  B.  G. : “What  is 
the  difference  between 
the  dollar  you  paid  for 
Hood’s  Sarsaparilla 
and  the  good  the  med- 
icine did  me?”; 

F.: P.  “Can’t  tell, 

I’m  sure.” 

S.B.  G.  “Well,  Pa- 
pa, the  cost  is  a nomin- 
al fee,  and  the  good 
is  phenomenal.” 

THERE  IS  A TRUTH  in  the  above  worth  considering.  Hood’s 
Sarsaparilla  is  a highly  concentrated  extract  of  Sarsaparilla  and 
other  valuable  vegetable  remedies,  and  each  bottle  contains  one, 
hundred  doses — enough  to  last  a month,  if  taken  according  to  direct 
tions.  Thousands  testify  to  the  phenomenal  benefit  derived  from  a 
single  bottle  of  Hood’s  Sarsaparilla.  It  is  the  “King  of  Medicines’* 
for  impure  blood,  that  tired  feeling  and  dyspeptic  troubles.  Why 
not  try  it  ? 


Taking  Things  Easy 
is  simply  taking  Pearline 
to  do  your  work.  In  the 
laundry  or  about  the  house 
it  is  a servant  in  itself.  It 
takes  away  drudgery  as  well 
as  dirt ; it  brings  comfort 
as  well  as  cleanliness.  Y ou 
can  use  it  on  anything  with  safety;  you  can 
use  it  on  everything  with  profit. 

Millions  use  it. 

ty  of  imitations  which  are  being  peddled  from  door 

rSeW2T0  to  d°or*  First  quality  goods  do  not  require  such 
desperate  methods  to  sell  them.  PEARLINE  sells 
>n  its  merits,  and  is  manufactured  only  by 

*o4  JAMES  PYLE,  New  York. 


R.  H.  M ACY  & CO. 

Sixth  Avenue,  13th  to  14th  Street,  N.  Y. 


In  UPHOLSTERY  DEPARTMENT  we 
are  showing  a full  line  of  Lace  Curtains 
from  99c.  to  $77.99  per  pair. 

Chenille  Curtains  in  rare  colorings,  rich  dado, 
etc.,  $4.99  to  $49.99  per  pair. 

ALSO  A RARE  COLLECTION  OF 

ORIENTAL  RUGS  and  EMBROIDERIES 

of  beautiful  designs  and  colorings  at  Popular 
Prices  (which  mean  a saving  of  from  20  to  j.q 
per  cent.),  , 


LIBIA  E.  PMIK’S  VEGETABLE  COMPOUND 


Is  a Positive  Cure  for  all  those  painful  Complaints 
and  Weaknesses  so  common  to  our  best 
female  population. 

It  will  cure  entirely  the  worst  form  of 
Female  Complaints,  all  Ovarian  troub  - 
les, Inflammation,  Ulceration,  Falling 
and  Displacements  of  the  Womb  and  the 
consequent  Spinal  Weakness,  and  is  par- 
ticularly adapted  to  the  Change  of  Life. 

It  will  dissolve  and  expel  Tumors  from 
the  uterus  in  an  early  stage  of  develop- 
ment. The  tendency  to  cancerous 
humors  there  is  checked  very  speedily 
by  its  use.  It  removes  faintnesst  flatu- 
lency, destroys  all  craving  for  stimulants 
and  relieves  weakness  of  the  stomach. 
It  cures  Bloating,  Headaches,  Nervous 
Prostration,  General  Debility,  Sleepless- 
;ss,  Depression  and  Indigestion. 

^hat  feeling  of  bearing  down,  causing 
t,  weight  and  headache,  is  always 
cured  by  its  use. 

will  at  all  times  and  under  all  cir- 
cumstances, act  in  harmony  with  the 
laws  that  govern  the  female  system. 
For  the  cure  of  Kidney  Complaints  of 
either  sex,  this  Compound  is  unsur- 


LYDIA  E.  PINKHAM’S  VEGETABLE  COMPOUND  is  prepared  at  Lynn,  Mass.  Price,  $i. 

Six  bottles  for  $5.  Sent  by  mail  in  the  form  of  Pills,  also  in  the  form  of  Lozenges, 
on  receipt  of  price,  $1  per  box,  for  either.  Send  for  pamphlet.  All  letters  of  inquiry 
promptly  answered.  Address  as  above. 


CANDY 


CANDY 


Send  $1.25,  $2.25, 
$3.50,  or  $5.00  for  a 
sample  retail  box,  by 
express,  prepaid,  of 
the  Best  CANDIES 
in  America.  Strictly 
pure,  and  put  up  in 
elegant  boxes,  suit- 
able for  presents. 
Refers  to  all  Chicago. 
Try  it.  Address, 

C.  F.  GUNTHER, 

Confectioner, 

212  State  St.  and 
78  Madison  St., 

CHICAGO. 


HOSTETTEITS 

STOMACH  BIJTERS 

HAS  FOR  35  Y«ARS  BEEN 

Adopted  by  Physicians  and  invalids 

AS  A REMEDY  FOR 
Indigestion,  Dyspepsia? 

Fever  and  Ague,  Malaria, 
Neuralgia,  llbeumatism. 
General  Debility, 
And  other  KINDRED  DISEASES, 

AS  CONFIRMED  BY 

THOUSANDS  OF  TESTIMONIALS 
IN  OUR  POSSESSION. 

Ask  your  druggist  for  it,  and  take  none  but 
HOSTELER'S  STOMACH  BITTERS, 


$500  to  $30(1 


AYEAR! 
I undertake 
to  briefly 
'teach  any  per* 
son  of  either  sex,  who  can  read  and  write,  and 
who,  after  instruction,  will  work  industrious- 
ly, how  to  earn  FIVE  HUNDRED  to  THREE 
THOUSAND  DOLLARS  A YEAR  in  their  own 
localities,  wherever  they  live.  I will  also  fur- 
nish the  employment  at  which  you  can  earn 
that  amount.  No  money  for  me  unless  suc- 
cessful. Easily  and  quickly  learned.  I desire 
but  one  worker  from  each  district.  I have 


already  taught  and  provided  with  employ- 
ment a large  number,  who  are  making  over 
$3000  a year  each.  It’s  NEW  and  SOLID.  Full 
particulars  FREE.  Address  at  once, 

STINSON  & CO.,  P.O.Box770, Portland, Me. 


DRINK  HIRES’ ROOT  BEffl 


Write  the  Charles  E.  Hires  Co.,  117-119  Arch 
St.,  Phila.,  Pa.  giving  your  name  and  address, 
and  you  will  receive  oy  mail  a copy  of  a beau- 
tifully illustrated  picture-book  and.  picture 
cards  free. 


EPPS’S 

CRATEFUL-COMFORTINC 

COCOA 


New  Process  DOG  BISCUIT 

is  entirely  different  from  any 
other.  Does  not  cause  diar- 
rhoea. Dogs  eat  it  in  prefer- 
ence to  other  brands,  and  it 
costs 
pound 
tritive 
for  fr 

of  dogs  in  health  and  disease. 

Retail  price  10c.  per  lb.  Samples  sent  by 
mail  for  5 cents.  „ 

ASSOCIATED  FANCIERS,  400  N.  Third  St., 
Philadelphia,,  Pa. 


no  more,  id  contains 
for  pound  twice  the  nu- 
quauties  of  any  other 
ee  book  on  management 


FREE  SILVER  SPOONS  S3  r. 

will  forward  your  name  and  address  to  pub- 
lishers, manufacturers  and  dealers  in  Agents' 
Goods,  who  will  send  you  valuable  samples 
of  Books,  Newspapers,  Music,  Works  of  Art, 
and  circulars  offering  permanent  business, 
where  $50  per  week  can  be  made.  One  Doz. 
Heavy  Silver-plated  Spoons  cau  be  obtained 
FREE  if  you  write  now. 

Directory  Co.,  Box  50,  Montclair,  IT.  J. 


Positive  Cure.  By  Mail. 
Sealed  book  free.  Address 
W.  S.  RICE,  Box  L.,  Smith- 
ville,  Jefferson  Go.,  N.  Y. 


RUPTURE 


SUPERFLUOUS  FAT  A DISEASE ! 


n 

A F|P  IZ"  13  You  can  reduce  your 

Ja  JukA  Jc  weight  from  10  to 

without  injury,  without  starving,  without  anyone  be- 
ing the  wiser,  at  home,  at  small  cost  by  the  use  of 

; OLD  DR.  CLARKE’S  HOME  TREATMENT. 

Established  1851. 

| Perfected  in  over  40  years  special  practice.  Send  for  proofs  and  testimonials. 

Y A T\T  iy  Cj  suffering  from  Profuse  Perspiration,  Sweating 
JLJJljL Feet,  Offensive  Breath,  etc.,  you  can  be  re* 
licvud  by  a simple  method.  Particulars  free. 

Address  F.  O.  CLARKE,  *!8S  S.  Jlark  Street,  Chigaqo,  lu 


VALUABLE  TO  EVERY  LADY. 

No  AMERICAN  HOUSEKEEPER  should  bs  without 

The  American  Analyst, 

The  only  Journal  published  in  the  interest  of 
PURE  FOOD. 

Ah  entertaining  and  instructive  adviser  for  fhe  Kitclien,  tlie  Dining 
Hoorn,  and  tlio  Houseliold. 

SEND  POSTAL  CARP  FOR  SAMPLE  COPY 

Published  Weekly  at  $1.00  per  year.  Address 

THE  AMERICAN  ANALYST, 

1©  PARK  PLACE,  NEW  YORK. 


Copyrighted  1890  by  Zum  Smith's  Agents'  JZerald^  Philadelphia^  Pa. 

SPECIAL  BILL  POSTERS  WANTED. 

Advertisers,  Patentees,  Manufacturers,  etc.,  are  continually  request- 
ing us  to  supply  the  addresses  of  reliable  circular  distributers,  bill 
posters,  etc.  Brunn’s  success  is  marvelous,  and  will  open  up  in  200,000 
Heralds  nextmonth,  to  be  mailed  to  business  firms,  a new,  profitable 
and  permanent  business  to  one  man,  woman  or  youth  in  every 
town  in  the  U.  S.  and  Canada.  “The  early  bird  catches  the 
worm.”  We  want  a few  such ads.”  as  Brunn’s  to  start  with. 
in  next  month’s  Mammoth  editions  of  the  Agents’  Herald. 
Brunn  paid  $2.10  to  insert  4 lines,  June,  ’90.  He  began  during  summer. 
That  ad.  paid  then ; is  paying  now.  He  has  been  kept  constantly 
busy,  employs  three  men  to  assist  him,  clearing  on  their  labor  from. 
$10  to  $15  a day  distributing  circulars  at  $2  per  1000  for  many  firms 
who  saw  his  ad.  in  the  Herald.  It  costs  every  firm  at  least  $10  in 
postage  alone  to  mail  1000  circulars.  YOU  advertise  to  HAND  THEM 
out  for  $2  per  1000.  A saving  to  each  firm  who  employs  you  of  $8  per 
1000.  PARENTS  make  your  boys  a present.  Start  them  in  this  grow- 
ings business.  Begin  this  neat business  before  some  one  in  your 
county  gets  the  start  of  you.  “Come  in  on  the  ground  floor.’* 
! lines  as  below  (Brunn’s)  in  200,000  Heralds  costs  $2.10 ; 3 lines 
as  below  (Foster’s)  $1.80 ; 2 lines  as  below  (Best’s)  $1.20 ; cash, 
or  postage  stamps.  Instructions  FREE  to  such  advertisers  only. 

All  firms 


a® 

< 1 53a i£ 


DEIRj  A|  nails  up  signs,  distributes  circulars,  papers’  wanting  the 
, tun  i©  samples,  etc.,  throughout  Blackhawk  and  I addresses  ofi 
'surrounding  counties.  Charges  moderate.  rlictrihntar* 

Address,  W.  H.  BRUNN,  Waterloo,  la.  Ishniild  an- 

5c.  a copy  or  50c.  a year.  Send 
— DIRECTORY.  Dkee- 


; ily  for  a copy  of  Herald.  _ _ 

! 35  cents  for  your  address  in  THE 

tory  of  all  advertisers  wanting  agents.  Sample  copy  of  this  or 
next  month’s  Herald,  5 


Cents.  The  best  advertis- 
ing medium  on  earth  for  any 
business.  Try  one  month.  To 
eecure  immediate  attention  ad- 
dress HeraltUiox  13006,  Hula.,  fa. 


NAMES 


Permanent  addresses  of  all  residents  [ 
or  tax-payers  of  this  (Adams)  Co.  $2.  | 
per  1000.  A.  H.  FOSTER,  Natchez,  Miss,  j 


CIRCULARS  orpTI 


srs  distributed  $1.00  per  1,0007] 
BK8T,  New  Cumberland.  Pa. I 


THE  SANITARIAN. 

1873  A.  N.  BELL,  A.M.,  M.D.,  editor.  1891 

Based  at  the  outset  upon  Naval  service  and  extensive  observation 
of  the  effects  of  climate  and  locality  on  health  in  different  quarters  of 
the  world  and  large  experience  in  dealing  with  epidemic  diseases : 

•‘The  Sanitarian  is  the  best  sanitary  publication  in  America”  ( Mississippi 
Valley  Medical  Monthly)  ; 41  Easily  maintains  its  superiority  over  all  similar  publi- 
cations ” {Medical  World)  \ and  u Has  accomplished  more  good  than  all  of  the 
other  Sanitary  papers  put  together”  {Hydraulic  and  Sanitary  Plumber .) 

“The  Sanitarian  sustains  its  reputation  for  warfare  in  the  cause  of  preven- 
tive medicine.  Intelligent  and  conscientious  physicians  are  using  more  and  more  of 
nature’s  health-giving  remedies.  Pure  air,  water,  and  sunlight  are  potent  agencies 
in  the  armamenta  medicorum . To  parody  Carleton,  physicians,  those  deserving 
of  the  name, 

Open  the  blinds  when  the  day  is  bright, 

And  God  gives  their  patients  the  bright  sunlight  J 
They  open  the  windows  when  the  day  is  fair, 

And  God  gives  their  patients  the  pure,  fresh  air. 

•‘Such  journals  as  The  Sanitarian  are  most  valuable  to  non-professional 
readers  in  showing  how  in  a thousand  ways  disease  may  be  prevented;  and,  when 
it  does  come,  the  intelligent  physicians  will  be  all  the  better  appreciated  by  those  who 
are  conversant  with  the  facts  such  a publication  disseminates  ” {The  Living  Church.) 

The  Sanitarian  will  continue  in  its  present  form,  96  pages  text 
monthly;  two  volumes  yearly.  The  volumes  begin  January  and  July. 
Subscription  at  any  time. 

$4.00  a year,  in  advance.  35  cents  a number.  Sample  copies  20 
cents — ten  two-cent  postage  stamps.  All  communications  should  be 
Addressed  to  A.  N.  BELL,  M.D.,  Brooklyn,  N.  Y. 


THE  MARYLAND  FARMER, 

BALTIMORE,  MD. 

The  oldest , best  known  and  most  influential  Agricultural 
Magazine  in  Maryland.  Monthly,  $1.00  a year. 

To  each  new  subscriber,  sending  direct  to  our  Office  in  Baltimore,  $i  for  a year’* 
subscription,  we  will  give  as  premiums  the  following  8 Books  : 

$3.00  FOR  $1.00. 


Standard  American  Poultry  Book,  .25 

American  Live  Stock  Manual,  . .25 

Everybody’s  Law  Book,  . . .25 

Kendall’s  Horse  Book,  , » .25 

Artistic  Embroidery,  . . .25 


Fancy  Work  for  Home  Adorn- 
ment, .....  .23 

Complete  Book  of  Amusements,  .25 
Modern  Book  of  Wonders,  . . .25 

The  Maryland  Farmer,  One  Year,  1.00 


Or,  if  you  love  music,  we  will  send  you  twelve  pieces  of  music — your  choice 
from  our  10  cent  Catalogue  of  2,000  pieces.  All  FREE,  by  mail,  as  a premium. 

We  also  send  frep  by  mail  to  any  address  in  the  United  States,  distance  no 
objection,  any  piece  of  Sheet  Music  at  the  following  cheap  rates,  when  cash  is  sent 
with  the  order : 

30c.  pieces  for  17c.  35c.  pieces  for  20c. 

40c.  pieces  for  22c.  50c.  pieces  for  27c. 

60c.  pieces  for  32c.  75c.  pieces  for  40c. 

ALL  SHEET  MUSIC  SENT  FREE  OF  POSTAGE. 

IC.  or  2c.  postage  stamps  always  accepted  as  cash. 

Address  THE  MARYLAND  FARMER, 

BALTIMORE,  MD. 


A GOOD  RECORD. 

It  was  The  Educational  Courant , of  Louisville,  Ky.,  which  so 
emphatically  and  specifically  called  tlie  especial  attention  of  teachers 
and  educators  all  over  the  country  to  the  good  record  made  by  the 
American  Journal  of  Educationy  and  its  splendid  and  immediate 
practical  results. 

The  Courant , in  speaking  of  the  direct  money  value  to  the 
teachers  of  the  circulation  of  this  journal  among  the  people,  said  : 

“ A year  or  two  ago  the  Editor  of  the  The  American  Journal  of 
Education , St.  Louis,  urged  that  a liberal  distribution  of  that  paper 
among  the  teachers,  school  officers  and  tax-payers,  would  re-imburse 
each  teacher  four- fold  its  cost  in  one  year.  The  teachers  caught  the 
idea,  and  wisely  and  zealously  aided  until  one  hundred  and  fifty 
thousand  copies  were  put  into  circulation.  At  the  close  of  the  year 
the  Report  of  the  Superintendent  of  Public  Instruction  for  Missouri 
showed  an  average  increase  of  teachers'  wages  at  $19.62.  Of  course, 
it  was  not  claimed  that  all  this  was  due  to  the  Journal  but  that  it 
was  an  active  and  prompt  factor  in  securing  this  desired  result,  no 
intelligent  person  will  deny.” 

Address  J.  B.  Merwin,  Manager  Editor,  No.  1120  Pine  Street, 
St.  Louis,  Mo. , for  subscription  or  sample  copies.  Price,  $1.50  per  year. 


SCHOOL  SUPPLIES. 

Ip  you  want  the  best  School  Desks,  the  best 
“Aids  to  School  Discipline,”  Slated  Paper,  or  any  other 
style  of  Black  Boards,  or  any  other  “ Tools  to  Work 
With  ” in  the  school-room,  such  as  Maps,  Globes,  Charts 
or  Black  Boards,  the  best  thing  to  do  is  to  write  the 
J.  B.  Merwin  School  Supply  Co.,  St.  Louis,  Mo.,  for 
Special  Introductory  Prices  cn  these  articles.  This  firm 
furnishes  the  best  goods  at  the  lowest  prices,  and  wilj. 
take  pleasure  in  answering  all  inquiries.  Address  the 

J.  B.  MEKWIN  SCHOOL  SUPPLY  CO., 


1120  Pine  Street,  St.  Louis,  Mo. 


4' 


{ 


THE  JOURNAL  O F SOCIETY. 
E.  D.  MANN,  Proprietor. 


Published  (New  York)  Every  Thursday. 

**  Between  the'  lines  of  raillery  and  cynicism  to 
! read  great  lessons  of  life , morality  and  hope.'* 

The  newsiest,  brightest,  wittiest,  wisest,  clever^ 
cst,  most  original,  and  most  entertaining  paper 
ever  published. 

A complete  and  perfect  journal  for  cultivated 
men  and  women,  being  a topical  and  out- 
spoken critic  and  chronicle  of  the  events,  doings; 
interests,  and  tastes  cf  the  fashionable  world.  It 
is  always  up  to  date,  and  carries  with  it  the  atmos- 
phere of  the  metropolis. 

in  purity  and  power  of  literary  style  it  has 
no  equal  on  this  continent. 

A veritable  symposium  of  well-bred  satire; 
deftness  and  daintiness  of  touch;  strength,  inde- 
pendence and  originality  of  thought;  refined 
Immor;  caustic  comment;  piquancy  of  jest; 
short  stories  s musical,  dramatic,  literary  and 
art  criticism^  and  topical  sketches. 

The  fame  of  its. Financial  Bepartrciesif, 
in  the  most  reliable  authority  on  financial  sub- 
facts,  investments  and  speculation,  is  world-widet 
Its  interest  is  by  no  means  local;  being  the  rec- 
ognized journal  ©£  American  : >eiety, 
it  is  equally  entertaining  in  all  parts  cf  the  country 
For  sale  each  week  by  ail  first-class  newsdealers 
In  America  and  Europe.  Every  newsdealer  will 
keep  and  supply  it  if  requested.  Newsdealers 
supplied  by  the  American  News  Co  , 39  Chambers 
Street,  New  York,  and  by  all  other  news  companies; 

Regular  subscriptions  may  be  sent  direct 
to  office  of  publication,  or  through  any  newsdealer 
or  subscriptionagency : One  year.  $4.00;  six  months 
$2.50;  three  months,  $1.30.  Samples  free. 

Address:  TOWN  TOPICS, 

*1  West  St.,  New  York  City,  N.  X,. 


Two  Papers  a Week 

For  a Dollar  a Year. 

The  “Twice-a-Week  ” Edition  of  The  St. 
Louis  Republic  is  at  once  the  best  and  the 
cheapest  news  journal  in  the  world.  It  is  a big 
seven-column  paper,  containing  six  to  eight  pages 
each  issue,  or  twelve  to  sixteen  every  week,  and  is 
mailed  every  Tuesday  and  Friday:  Its  readers  get 

the  news  of  the  day  almost  as  promptly  and  fully 
as  the  readers  of  a Daily  and  half  a week  ahead 
of  any  Weekly  in  every  State  in  the  Union.  Yet 
the  price  is  ONLY  ONE  DOLLAR  A YEAR. 
Special  Missouri,  Illinois  and  Texas  Editions  are 
printed,  and  the  General  Edition  for  other  States 
contains  nothing  but  details  of  important  events  of 
interest  everywhere.  All  editions  contain  the 
Literary,  Story,  Agricultural  and  other  features 
that  make  The  Republic  so  acceptable  as  a 
home  and  family  paper.  The  Republic  is  the 
leading  Democratic  paper  of  the  country,  aggres- 
sive, but  at  the  same  time  liberal,  and  the  only 
thoroughly  national  journal  in  the  whole  country. 
Remember  the  price  is  ONLY  ONE  DOLLAR 
A YEAR.  Sample  copies,  also  an  illustrated 
Premium  Catalogue,  sent  free  on  application. 

"D*®  THE  republic, 

ST.  LOUIS,  MO, 


No  Man  Who  Shoots 

Gets  a quarter  of  the  good  out  of  the  world  that 
he  might,  unless  he  reads  “ Forest  and  Stream.” 

Every  Man  Who  Goes  Fishing 

Misses  it  too  unless  he  sees  what  other  anglers 
write  for  the  “ Forest  and  Stream.”  Send  10  cents 
for  this  week’s  issue. 


We  sand  FREE  CATALOGUE  of  best  books  on 
Shooting,  Fishing,  the  Dog,  Yachting,  Canoeing, 
Outdoor  Life,  Travel,  Adventure. 

FOREST  AND  STREAM  PUBLISH!!®  00.3 

318  Broadway*  lew  York. 


CALIGKAPH 


GREATEST 

o speed: 


THE  MOST  ©USABLE. 

6'ngle  Case,  Wo<  1 j • • . . , „ eo 

Double  Case,  “2, 

New  Special.  “3,  . " «oo"oa 

THE  JHBDtitvnn?  ffclraco!  “d 
BbaschOsotces:  i 237  o. 

English  Fagtghv. 


PRYYTTO'R  ONE  YEAR. 


Is  true  only  of  the 

WHEEL /HEfJ'S  GAZETTE. 

an  illustrated  monthly  mag- 
azine devoted  to  the  grand- 
est, healthiest,  most  manly 
sport  in  the  world,— cyclings 

^pe.  you  a V/ty^Iman? 

Whether  you  are  or  not  you  are  sure  to  be  inter- 
ested in  our  paper.  You  can’t  help  it.  Its  sketches^ 
poems  and  stories  are  interesting  to  all.  They  are 
pure  and  healthful  in  their  tone.  They  breathe  of 
green  fields  and  shady  lanes,  and  are  a constant 
inspirer  of  a love  of  nature. 

To  convince  you  that  our  paper  is  all  we  claim 
for  it  in  every  particular  if  you  will  send  your  name 
and  address  we  will  send  vou  a sample  copy  free 
Then  if  you  want  to  try  it  for  a year,  as  you  surely 
will,  i-t  will  cost  you  only 

Cheap  Enough,  Is  n’t  It? 

LIBERAL  COMMISSIONS  TO  CLUB  RAISERS, 
address  the  Publisher: — 

BEN  L.  DARROW, 

INDIAKAPOI^IS,  mO. 


Itching  Piles. 
BURNETT’S  KALLISTON. 

A Sure  Relief 

And  a Cure  in  most  cases. 

If  your  druggist  does  not  keep  it,  send  $1.00 
to  JOSEPH  BURNETT  & CO.,  27 
Central  Street,  Boston,  Mass.  25  cte. 
additional  will  prepay  expressage  to -any 
part  of  the  United  States.  Sample  by 
on  receipt  o£  ten  cents. 


The  Seaside  Library-Pocket  Edition. 

Always  Unchanged  and  Unabridged. 

WITH  HANDSOME  LITHOGRAPHED  PAPER  COVER. 


Persons  who  wish  to  purchase  the  following  works  in  a complete  and  un- 
abridged form  are  cautioned  to  order  and  see  that  they  get  The  Seaside  Li- 
brary, Pocket  Edition,  as  works  published  in  other  libraries  are  frequently 
abridged  and  incomplete.  Every  number  of  The  Seaside  Library  is 

Always  Unchanged  and  Unabridged. 

Newsdealers  wishing  catalogues  of  The  Seaside  Library.  Pocket  Edi- 
tion, bearing  their  imprint,  will  be  supplied  on  sending  their  names, 
addresses,  and  number  required. 

The  works  in  The  Seaside  Library,  Pocket  Edition,  are  printed  from 
larger  type  and  on  better  paper  than  any  other  series  published. 

The  following  works  are  for  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  will  be  sent  to  any 
address,  postage  free,  on  receipt  of  the  price. 

Volumes  marked  * will  be  sent  postpaid  on  receipt  of  12  cents. 

GEORGE  MUNRO,  Munro’s  Publishing  House, 

P.  O.  Box  3751.  17  to  27  Vandewater  Street,  Hew  York. 


AUTHORS’  CATALOGUE. 

[When  ordering  by  mail  please  order  by  numbers .] 


By  E.  About. 

1467  A New  Lease  of  Life 20 

By  Mrs.  Leith  Adams. 

1345  Aunt  Hepsy’s  Foundling 20 


Works  by  the  author  of  “Addie’s 
Husband.” 

388  Addie’s  Husband ; or,  Through 


Clouds  to  Sunshine * 

504  My  Poor  Wife * 

1046  Jessie 20 

Max  Adder’s  Works. 

1550  Random  Shots 20 

1569  Elbow  Room 20 

Works  by  the  author  of  “A  Fatal 
Dower.” 

246  A Fatal  Dower 20 

372  Phyllis’  Probation * 

461  His  Wedded  Wife 20 

829  The  Actor’s  Ward 20 

1373  The  Story  of  an  Error 20 

By  the  Author  of  “A  Golden 
Bar.” 

483  Betwixt  My  Love  and  Me * 

Works  by  the  author  of  “ A Great 
Mistake.” 

244  A Great  Mistake . . 20 

588  Cherry * 

1040  Clarissa’s  Ordeal.  1st  half...  20 

1040  Clarissa’s  Ordeal.  2d  half 20 

1137  Prince  Charming 20 

1187  Suzanne 20 

Works  by  the  author  of  “A 
Woman’s  Love-Story.” 

322  A Woman’s  Love-Story * 

677  Griselda 20 


By  Hamilton  Aide. 


383  Introduced  to  Society * 

Gustave  Aimard’s  Works. 

1341  The  Trappers  of  Arkansas * 

1396  The  Adventurers * 

1398  Pirates  of  the  Prairies * 

1400  Queen  of  the  Savannah * 

1401  The  Buccaneer  Chief * 

1402  The  Smuggler  Hero * 

1404  The  Rebel  Chief * 

1650  The  Trail-Hunter * 

1653  The  Pearl  of  the  Andes * 

1672  The  Insurgent  Chief * 

1688  The  Trapper’s  Daughter * 

1690  The  Tiger-Slayer * 

1692  Border  Rifles * 

1700  The  Flying  Horseman * 

1701  The  Freebooters * 

1714  The  White  Scalper * 

1723  The  Guide  of  the  Desert * 

1732  Last  of  the  Ancas * 

1734  Missouri  Outlaws * 

1736  Prairie  Flower * 

1740  Indian  Scout * 

1741  Stronghand * 

1742  Bee-Hunters * 

1744  Stoneheart * 

1748  The  Gold-Seekers * 

1752  . Indian  Chief * 

1756  Red  Track * 

1761  The  Treasure  of  Pearls * 

1768  Red  River  Half-Breed * 

By  Mary  Albert. 

961  A Hidden  Terror 20 


THE  SEASIDE  LXBPARY— Pocket  Edition. 


(^rani  Allen’s  Works. 

712  For  Mairnie's  Sake 20 

1221  “ The  Tents  of  Shem  20 

1763  The  Great  Taboo 20 

Mrs.  Alexander’s  Works. 

5 The  Admiral’s  Ward.  . . 20 

17  The  Wooing  O’t 20 

62  The  Executor 20 

189  Valerie’s  Fate * 

229  Maid,  Wife,  or  Widow? * 

236  Which  Shall  it  Be? 20 

339  Mrs.  Vereker’s  Courier  Maid. . * 

490  A Second  Life 20 

564  At  Bay * 

794  Beaton’s  Bargain 20 

797  Look  Before  You  Leap 20 

805  The  Freres.  1st  half 20 

805  The  Freres.  2d  half 20 

806  Her  Dearest  Foe.  1st  half 20 

806  Her  Dearest  Foe.  2d  half 20 

814  The  Heritage  of  Langdale 20 

815  Ralph  Wilton’s  Weird * 

900  By  Woman’s  Wit 20 

997  Forging  the  Fetters,  and  The 

Australian  Aunt 20 

1054  Mona’s  Choice 20 

1057  A Life  Interest 20 

1189  A Crooked  Path 20 

1199  A False  Scent * 

1367  Heart  Wins * 

1459  A Woman’s  Heart 20 

1571  Blind  Fate 20 

1582  An  Interesting  Case 20 

Alison’s  Works. 

194  “So  Near,  and  Yet  So  Far !” . . * 

278  For  Life  and  Love * 

481  The  House  That  Jack  Built. . . * 

By  Hans  Christian  Andersen. 

1314  Andersen’s  Fairy  Tales 20 

By  W.  P.  Andrews. 

1172  India  and  Her  Neighbors 20 

F.  Anstey’s  Works. 

59  Vice  Versa 20 

225  The  Giant’s  Robe 20 

503  The  Tinted  Venus.  A Farcical 

Romance * 

819  A Fallen  Idol. . . . 20 

1616  The  Black  Poodle,  and’ Other 
Tales 20 

By  G.  W.  Appleton. 

1848  A Terrible  Legacy 20 

By  Annie  Armitt. 

759  In  Shallow  Waters 20 

T.  S.  Arthur’s  Works. 

1337  Woman’s  Trials 20 

1636  The  Two  Wives 20 

1638  Married  Life 20 

1640  Ways  of  Providence 20 

1641  Home  Scenes 20 

1644  Stories  for  Parents 20 

1649  Seed-Time  and  Harvest 20 

1652  Words  for  the  Wise 20 


1654  Stories  for  Young  House- 
keepers  

1657  Lessons  In  Life 

1658  Off-Hand  Sketches 

Sir  Samuel  Baker’s  Works. 

267  Rifle  and  Hound  in  Ceylon 

533  Eight  YearsWandering  in  Cey- 
lon  

1502  Cast  Up  by  the  Sea 

R.  M.  Ballantyne’s  Works. 

89  The  Red  Eric 

95  The  Fire  Brigade 

96  Erling  the  Bold 

772  Gascoyne,  the  Sandal -Wood 

Trader 

1514  Deep  Down 

Honore  De  Balzac’s  Works. 

776  P&re  Goriot 

1128  Cousin  Pons 

1318  The  Vendetta 

S.  Baring- Gould’s  Works. 

787  Court  Royal 

878  Little  Tu’penny 

1122  Eve 

1201  Mehalah:  A Story  of  the  Salt 

Marshes 

1697  Red  Spider 

1711  The  Pennycomequicks 

1763  John  Herring 

1779  Arminell 

Frank  Barrett’s  Works. 

986  The  Great  Hesper 

1138  A Recoiling  Vengeance 

1245  Fettered  for  Life 

1461  Smuggler’s  Secret 

1611  Between  Life  and  Death 

1750  Lieutenant  Barnabas 

Basil’s  Works. 

344  “ The  Wearing  of  the  Green  ”.  20 


547  A Coquette’s  Conquest 20 

585  A Drawn  Game 20 

By  G.  M.  Bayne. 

1618  Galaski 20 

Anne  Beale’s  Works. 

188  Idonea 20 

199  The  Fisher  Village * 

By  Alexander  Begg. 

1605  Wrecks  in  the  Sea  of  Life — 80 
E.  B.  Benjamin’s  Works. 

1706  Jim,  the  Parson 20 

1720  Our  Roman  Palace 20 

By  A.  Benrimo. 

1624  Vic 80 

By  E.  Berger. 

1646  Charles  Auchester 29 

By  W.  Bergsol. 

1445  Pillone... 29 


88*888  88888  8*8  888  8S  ***  88  8 888 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY — Pocket  Edition. 


S 


By  E.  Berthcl. 

1589  The  Sergeant’s  Legacy 20 

V.  Walter  Besant’s  Works. 

97  All  in  a Garden  Fair 20 

137  Uncle  Jack * 

140  A Glorious  Fortune * 

146  Love  Finds  the  Way,and  Other 
Stories.  By  Besant  and  Rice  * 

230  Dorothy  Forster 20 

324  Iu  Luck  at  Last * 

541  Uncle  Jack * 

651  “ Self  or  Bearer  ” * 

882  Children  of  Gibeon 20 

904  The  Holy  Rose * 

906  The  World  Went  Very  Well 

Then 20 

980  To  Call  Her  Mine 20 

1055  Katharine  Regina 20 

1065  Herr  Paulus:  His  Rise,  His 

Greatness,  and  His  Fall 20 

1143  The  Inner  House 20 

1151  For  Faith  and  Freedom 20 

1240  The  Bell  of  St.  Paul’s 20 

1247  The  Lament  of  Dives. 20 

1378  They  Were  Married.  By  Wal- 
ter Besant  and  James  Rice. . . * 

1413  Armorel  of  Lyonesse 20 

1462  Let  Nothing  You  Dismay * 

1530  When  the  Ship  Comes  Home. 

By  Besant  and  Rice * 

1655  The  Demoniac 20 


M.  Betham-Ed wards’s  Works. 
273  Love  and  Mirage ; or, The  Wait- 
ing on  an  Island * 

579  The  Flower  of  Doom, and  Other 


Stories * 

594  Doctor  Jacob  20 

1023  Next  of  Kin— Wanted 20 

1407  The  Parting  of  the  Ways 20 

1500  Disarmed 20 

1543  For  One  and  the  World , 

1627  A Romance  of  the  Wire 20 

By  Jeanie  Gwynne  Bettany. 

1810  A Laggard  in  Love 20 


Bjornstjerne  Biornson’s  Works. 

1385  Arne.  * 

1388  The  Happy  Boy * 


William  Black’s  Works. 

1 Yolande 20 

18  Shandon  Bells 20 

21  Sunrise  : A Story  of  These 

Times 20 

23  A Princess  of  Thule 20 

39  In  Silk  Attire 20 

44  Macleod  of  Dare 20 

49  That  Beautiful  Wretch 20 

50  The  Strauge  Adventures  of  a 

Phaeton 20 

70  White  Wings:  A Yachting  Ro- 
mance  * 

78  Madcap  Violet 20 

81  A Daughter  of  Heth 20 

124  Three  Feathers 20 

125  The  Monarch  of  Mincing  Lane  20 


126  Kilmeny 2* 

138  Green  Pastures  and  Piccadilly  20 
265  Judith  Shakespeare : Her  Love 
Affairs  and  Other  Adventures  20 
472  The  Wise  Women  of  Inverness  * 

627  White  Heather 20 

898  Romeo  and  Juliet:  A Tale  of 

Two  Young  Fools 

962  Sabina  Zembra.  1st  half 

962  Sabina  Zembra.  2d  half 

1096  The  Strange  Adventures  of  a 

House-Boat 

1132  In  Far  Lochaber 

1227  The  Penance  of  John  Logan . . 
1259  Nanciebel : A Tale  of  Stratford- 

on-Avon 

1268  Prince  Fortunatus 

1389  Oliver  Goldsmith 

1394  The  Four  Maccicols,  and  Other 

Tales 

1426  An  Adventure  in  Thule 

1480  Cruel  London 

1505  Lady  Silverdale’s  Sweetheart. 

1506  Mr.  Pisistratus  Brown,  M.  P. . 

1725  Stand  Fast,  Craig-Royston ! . . . 

R.  D.  Black  more’s  Works. 

67  Lorna  Doone.  1st  half 

67  Lorna  Doone.  2d  half 

427  The  Remarkable  History  of  Sir 
Thomas  Upmore,  Bart.,  M.  P. 

615  Mary  Anerley 

625  Erema;  or,  My  Father’s  Sin.. 

629  Cripps,  the  Carrier 

630  Cradock  Nowell.  1st  half 

630  Cradock  Nowell.  2d  half 

631  Christo  well.  A Dartmoor  Tale 

632  ( lara  Vaughan 

633  The  Maid  of  Sker.  1st  half. . . 

633  The  Maid  of  Sker.  2d  half. . . . 

636  Alice  Lorraine.  1st  half 

636  Alice  Lorraine.  2d  half.  

926  Springhaven.  1st  half 

926  Springhaven.  2d  half 

1267  Kit  and  Kitty.  1st  half 

1267  Kit  and  Kitty.  2d  half 

By  Isa  Blagden. 

705  The  Woman  I Loved,  and  the 
Woman  Who  Loved  Me 

By  C.  Blatherwick. 

151  The  Ducie  Diamonds 

By  Frederick  Boyle* 

356  The  Good  Hater 

Miss  M.  E.  Braddon’s  Works, 

35  Lady  Audley’s  Secret 

56  Phantom  Fortune 

74  Aurora  Floyd 

110  Under  the  Red  Flag 

153  The  Golden  Calf . 

204  Vixen 

211  The  Octoroon 

234  Barbara ; or,  Splendid  Misery.  20 


263  An  Ishmaelite 20 

315  The  Mistletoe  Bough.  Christ- 
mas, 1884.  Edited  by  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon 21 


88*888  8 * * ggggggSggSgggggg  88  8**8**  *88  888  888 


4 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY — Pocket  Edition. 


434  Wy Hard’s  Weird 20 

478  Diavola;  or,  Nobody’s  Daugh- 
ter. Part  1 20 

478  Diavola;  or.  Nobody’s  Daugh- 
ter. Part  II 20 

480  Married  in  Haste.  Edited  by 
Miss  M.  E.  Braddon 20 

487  Put  to  the  Test.  Edited  by  Miss 

M.  E.  Braddon 20 

488  Joshua  Haggard’s  Daughter...  20 

489  Rupert  Godwin 20 

495  Mount  Royal 20 

496  Only  a Woman.  Edited  by  Miss 

M.  E.  Braddon 20 

497  The  Lady’s  Mile 20 

498  Only  a Clod 20 

499  The  Cloven  Foot 20 

511  A Strange  World 20 

515  Sir  Jasper’s  Tenant ... 20 

524  Strangers  and  Pilgrims 20 

529  The  Doctor’s  Wife 20 

542  Fenton’s  Quest 20 

544  Cut  by  the  County ; or,  Grace 

Darnel * 

548  A Fatal  Marriage,  and  The 
Shadow  in  the  Corner. * 


549  Dudley  Carleon ; or.  The  Broth- 


er’s Secret,  and  George  Caul- 
field’s Journey * 

552  Hostages  to  Fortune 20 

553  Birds  of  Prey 20 

554  Charlotte’s  Inheritance.  (Se- 

quel to  “ Birds  of  Prey  ”) 20 

557  To  the  Bitter  End 20 

559  Taken  at  the  Flood 20 

560  Asphodel 20 

561  Just  as  I am ; or.  A Living  Lie  20 

567  Dead  Men’s  Shoes 20 

570  John  Marchmont’s  Legacy 20 

618  The  Mistletoe  Bough.  Christ- 
mas, 1885.  Edited  by  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon 20 

840  One  Thing  Needful;  or,  The 

Penalty  of  Fate 20 

881  Mohawks.  1st  half 20 

881  Mohawks.  2d  half 20 

890  The  Mistletoe  Bough.  Christ- 
mas, 1886.  Edited  by  Miss  M. 

E.  Braddon 20 

943  Weavers  and  Weft;  or,  “ Love 

that  Hath  Us  in  His  Net  ” 20 

947  Publicans  and  Sinners;  or, 

Lucius  Davoren.  1st  half 20 

947  Publicans  and  Sinners;  or, 

Lucius  Davoren.  2d  half 20 

1036  Like  and  Unlike 20 

1098  The  Fatal  Three 20 

1211  The  Day  Will  Come 20 

1411  Whose  Was  the  Hand? 20 

1664  Dead  Sea  Fruit 20 


By  Annie  Bradshaw. 

706  A Crimson  Stain * 

Works  by  Charlotte  M.  Braeme, 


Author  of  “ Dora  Thorne.” 

19  Her  Mother’s  Sin 20 

51  Dora  Thorne 20 

54  A Broken  Wedding-Ring 20 

68  A Queen  Amongst  Women * 


69  Madolin’s  Lover  20 

73  Redeemed  by  Love;  or,  Love’s 

Victory 20 

76  Wife  in  Name  Only;  or,  A 

Broken  Heart 

79  Wedded  and  Parted 

92  Lord  Lynne’s  Choice 

148  Thorns  and  Orange-Blossoms. 

190  Romance  of  a Black  Veil 

220  Which  Loved  Him  Best? 

237  Repented  at  Leisure.  (Large 

type  edition) 

967  Repented  at  Leisure 

249  “Prince  Charlie’s  Daughter;” 

or,  The  Cost  of  Her  Love 

250  Sunshine  and  Roses;  or,  Di- 

ana’s Discipline 

254  The  Wife’s  Secret,  and  Fair 

but  False 

283  The  Sin  of  a Lifetime ; or,  Viv- 
ien’s Atonement 

287  At  War  With  Herself 

923  At  War  With  Herself.  (Large 

type  edition) 

288  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight;  or. 

From  Out  the  Gloom 

955  From  Gloom  to  Sunlight;  or, 
From  Out  the  Gloom.  (Large 
type  edition) 

291  Love’s  Warfare 

292  A Golden  Heart 

293  The  Shadow  of  a Sin * 

948  The  Shadow  of  a Sin.  (Large 

type  edition) 20 

294  The  False  Vow;  or,  Hilda;  or, 

Lady  Hutton’s  Ward * 

928  The  False  Vow;  or,  Hilda;  or. 
Lady  Hutton’s  Ward.  (Large 

type  edition) 20 

294  Lady  Hutton’s  Ward;  or,  Hilda; 

or.  The  False  V o w * 

928  .Lady  Hutton’s  Ward;  or,  Hilda; 
or,  The  False  Vow.  (Large 
type  edition! 20 

294  Hilda;  or,  The  False  Vow;  or, 

Lady  Hutton’s  Ward * 

928  Hilda;  or,  The  False  Vow;  or, 
Lady  Hutton’s  Ward.  (Large 
type  edition) 20 

295  A Woman’s  War * 

952  A Woman’s  War.  (Large  type 

edition) 20 

296  A Rose  in  Thorns 20 

297  Hilary’s  Folly;  cr,  Her  Mar- 

riage Vow * 

953  Hilary’s  Folly;  or,  Her  Mar- 

riage Vow.  (Large  type  edi- 
tion)  20 

299  The  Fatal  Lilies,  and  A Bride 

from  the  Sea * 

300  A Gilded  Sin,  and  A Bridge  of 

Love * 

303  Ingledew  House,  and  More  Bit- 

ter than  Death * 

304  In  Cupid’s  Net * 

305  A Dead  Heart,  and  Lady  Gwen- 

doline’s Dream * 

306  A Golden  Dawn,  and  Love  for 

a Day * 


8*88*8  8*  8 8 * 8*  8 * 888 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition 


5 


807  Two  Kisses,  and  Like  no  Other 

Love * 

308  Beyond  Pardon 20 

322  A Woman's  Love-Story 20 

323  A Willful  Maid ‘ 20 

411  A Bitter  Atonement 20 

433  My  Sister  Kate * 

459  A Woman’s  Temptation. 

(Large  type  edition) 20 

951  A Woman’s  Temptation * 

460  Under  a Shadow 20 

465  The  Earl’s  Atonement 20 

466  Between  Two  Loves 20 

467  A Struggle  for  a Ring 20 

469  Lady  Darner’s  Secret 20 

470  Evelyn’s  Folly 20 

471  Thrown  on  the  World 20 

476  Between  Two  Sins;  or,  Married 

in  Haste * 

516  Put  Asunder;  or.  Lady  Castle- 

maine’s  Divorce 20 

576  Her  Martyrdom 20 

626  A Fair  Mystery;  or,  The  Perils 

of  Beauty 20 

741  The  Heiress  of  Hilldrop;  or, 
The  Romance  of  a Young  Girl  20 
745  For  Another’s  Sin;  or,  A Strug- 
gle for  Love 20 

792  Set  in  Diamonds 20 

821  The  World  Between  Them 20 

822  A Passion  Flower. 20 

853  A True  Magdalen 20 

854  A Woman’s  Error 20 

922  Marjorie 20 

924  ’Twixt  Smile  and  Tear 20 

927  Sweet  Cymbeline 20 

929  The  Belle  of  Lynn;  or,  The 

Miller’s  Daughter 20 

931  Lady  Diana’s  Pride 20 

949  Claribel’s  Love  Story ; or, Love’s 

Hidden  Depths 20 

958  A Haunted  Life ; or,  Her  Terri- 
ble Sin 20 

969  The  Mystery  of  Colde  Fell;  or, 

Not  Proven 20 

973  The  Squire’s  Darling 20 

975  A Dark  Marriage  Mom 20 

978  Her  Second  Love 20 

982  The  Duke’s  Secret 20 

985  On  Her  Wedding  Morn,  and 
The  Mystery  of  the  Holly-Tree  20 
988  The  Shattered  Idol,  and  Letty 

Leigh 20 

990  The  Earl’s  Error,  and  Arnold’s 

Promise 20 

•95  An  Unnatural  Bondage,  and 

That  Beautiful  Lady 20 

1006  His  Wife’s  Judgment 20 

1008  A Thom  in  Her  Heart 20 

1010  Golden  Gates 20 

1012  A Nameless  Sin 20 

1014  A Mad  Love 20 

1031  Irene’s  Vow 20 

1052  Signa’s  Sweetheart 20 

1091  A Modern  Cinderella * 

1134  Lord  Elesmere’s  Wife 20 

1155  Lured  Away;  or,  The  Story  of 
a Wedding  - Ring,  and  The 
Heiress  of  Arne 20 


1179  Beauty’s  Marriage 

1185  A Fiery  Ordeal 

1195  Dumaresq’s  Temptation 

1285  Jenny 

1291  The  Star  of  Love 

1328  Lord  Lisle’s  Daughter 

1415  Weaker  than  a Woman 

1628  Love  Works  Wonders 

By  Fredrika  Bremer. 

187  The  Midnight  Sun 

Charlotte  Bronte’s  Works. 

15  Jane  Eyre 

57  Shirley 

944  The  Professor 

II  ho  da  Broughton’s  Works. 

86  Belinda 

101  Second  Thoughts 

227  Nancy 

645  Mrs.  Smith  of  Longmains 

758  “ Good-bye,  Sweetheart!” 

765  Not  Wisely,  But  Too  Well 

767  Joan 

768  Red  as  a Rose  is  She 

769  Cometh  Up  as  a Flower 

862  Betty’s  Visions 

894  Doctor  Cupid 

1599  Alas ! 


By  Iiouise  de  Bruneval. 

1686  Sceur  Louise 20 

Robert  Buchanan’s  Works. 

145  “ Storm-Beaten:”  God  and  The 

Man 20 

154  Annan  Water 20 

181  The  New  Abelard * 

398  Matt : A Tale  of  a Caravan ...  * 

646  The  Master  of  the  Mine 20 

892  That  Winter  Night;  or,  Love’s 

Victory * 

1074  Stormy  Waters 20 

1104  The  Heir  of  Linne 20 

1350  Love  Me  Forever * 

1455  The  Moment  After 20 

By  John  Bunyan. 

1498  The  Pilgrim’s  Progress 20 

Captain  Fred  Burnaby’s  Works. 

375  A Ride  to  Khiva 20 

384  On  Horseback  Through  Asia 

Minor 20 

By  John  Bloundelle-Burton. 
913  The  Silent  Shore;  or,  The  Mys- 
tery of  St.  James’  Park. . . . . . 20 

By  Beatrice  M.  Butt. 

1354  Delicia 20 


By  the  Author  of  “ By  Crooked 
Paths.” 

430  A Bitter  Reckoning . . * 

E.  Easseter  Bynner’s  Works. 

1456  Nimport 30 

1460  Tritons 3$ 

By  Lord  Byron. 

719  Childe  Harold’s  Pilgrimage...  * 


§8*88888*888  888  * §8*8888 


6 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRA  BY— Pocket  Edition. 


' E.  Fairfax  Byrne’s  Works. 

521  Entangled 20 

538  A Fair  Country  Maid 20 

I5y  Mrs.  Caddy. 

127  Adrian  Bright 20 

Hall  Caine’s  Works. 

445  The  Shadow  of  a Crime 20 

520  She’s  All  the  World  to  Me * 

1234  The  Deemster 20 

1255  The  Bondman 20 

By  Mona  Caird. 

1699  The  Wing  of  Azrael 20 

By  Ada  Cambridge. 

1583  A Marked  Man 20 

Mi’s.  H.  Lovett  Cameron’s  Works. 

595  A North  Country  Maid 20 

796  In  a Grass  Country 20 

891  VeraNevill;  or,  Poor  Wisdom’s 

Chance 20 

912  Pure  Gold 20 

963  Worth  Winning 20 

1025  Daisy’s  Dilemma 20 

1028  A Devout  Lover ; or,  A Wasted 

Love 20 

1070  A Life’s  Mistake 20 

1204  The  Lodge  by  the  Sea 20 

1205  A Lost  Wife 20 

1236  Her  Father’s  Daughter 20 

1261  Wild  George’s  Daughter 20 

1290  The  Cost  of  a Lie 20 

1292  Bosky  Dell 20 

1549  The  Cruise  of  the  Black  Prince  20 
1782  A Dead  Past 20 

By  Lady  Colin  Campbell. 

1325  Darell  Blake 20 

Rosa  Noucliette  Carey’s  Works* 

215  Not  Like  Other  Girls 20 

396  Robert  Ord’s  Atonement 20 

551  Barbara  Heathcote’s  Trial.  1st 

half 20 

551  Barbara  Heathcote’s  Trial.  2d 

half 20 

608  For  Lilias.  1st  half 20 

608  For  Lilias.  2d  half 20 

930  Uncle  Max.  1st  half 20 

930  Uncle  Max.  2d  half 20 

932  Queenie’s  Whim.  1st  half 20 

932  Queenie’s  Whim.  2d  half 20 

934  Wooed  and  Married.  1st  half.  20 
934  Wooed  and  Married.  2d  half.  20 
936  Nellie’s  Memories.  1st  half. . . 20 
936  Nellie’s  Memories.,  2d  half...  20 

961  Wee  Wifie 20 

1033  Esther:  A Story  for  Girls 20 

1064  Only  the  Governess 20 

1135  Aunt  Diana 20 

1194  TheSearchforBasilLyndhurst  30 

1208  Merle’s  Crusade 20 

1545  Lover  or  Friend? 30 

William  Carleton’s  Works. 

1493  Willy  Reilly 20 

1552  Shane  Fadh’s  Wedding. ......  * 


1553  Larry  McFarland’s  Wake * 

1554  The  Party  Fight  and  Funeral.  * 

1556  The  Midnight  Mass * 

1557  Phil  Purcel * 

1558  An  Irish  Oath * 

1560  Going  to  Maynooth * 

1561  Phelim  O’Toole’s  Courtship. . . * 

1562  Dominick,  the  Poor  Scholar. . * 

1564  Neal  Malone * 

By  Alice  Comyns  Carr. 

571  Paul  Crew’s  Story * 

Lewis  Carroll’s  Works. 

462  Alice’s  Adventures  in  Wonder- 
land. Illustrated  by  John 

Tenniel 20 

789  Through  the  Looking-Glass, 
and  What  Alice  Found  There. 
Illustrated  by  John  Tenniel. . 20 

By  Cervantes. 

1576  Don  Quixote 30 

By  L.  W.  Champney. 

1468  Bourbon  Lilies.. 20 

By  Erckmann-Chatrian. 

329  The  Polish  Jew.  (Translated 
from  the  French  by  Caroline 
A.  Merighi.) * 

By  Victor  Cherbuliez, 

1516  Samuel  Brohl  & Co 20 

By  Mrs.  C.  M.  Clarke. 

1801  More  True  than  Truthful 20 

By  W.  M.  Clemens. 

1544  Famous  Funny  Fellows 20 

J.  Maclaren  Cobban’s  Works. 

485  Tinted  Vapours * 

1279  Master  of  His  Fate  20 

1511  A Reverend  Gentleman 20 

By  John  Coleman. 

504  Curly:  An  Actor’s  Story * 

C.  R.  Coleridge’s  Works. 

403  An  English  Squire 20 

1689  A Near  Relation 20 

By  Beatrice  Collensie. 

1352  A Double  Marriage 20 


Wilkie  Collins’s  Works. 

52  The  New  Magdalen 

102  The  Moonstone 

167  Heart  and  Science 

168  No  Thoroughfare.  By  Dickens 

and  Collins 

175  Love’s  Random  Shot,  and 

Other  Stories 

233  “ I Say  No or,  The  Love-Let- 


ter Answered 20 

50S  The  Girl  at  the  Gate * 

591  The  Queen  of  Hearts 20 


613  The  Ghost’s  Touch,  and  Percy 

and  the  Prophet * 

623  My  Lady’s  Money * 

701  The  Woman  in  White.  1st  half  20 
701  The  Woman  in  White.  2d  half  20 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


7 


702  Man  and  Wife.  1st  half 20 

702  Man  and  Wife.  2d  half 20 

764  The  Evil  Genius 20 

896  The  Guilty  River 20 

946  The  Dead  Secret 20 

977  The  Haunted  Hotel 20 

1029  Armadale.  1st  half 20 

1029  Armadale.  2d  half 20 

1095  The  Legacy  of  Cain 20 

1119  No  Name.  1st  half 20 

1119  No  Name.  2d  half 20 

1269  Blind  Love 20 

1347  A Rogue’s  Life 20 

1608  Tales  of  Two  Idle  Apprentices. 

By  Charles  Dickens  and  Wil- 
kie Collins 20 

Mabel  Collins’s  Works. 

749  Lord  Vanecourt’s  Daughter. . . 20 
828  The  PrettiestWoman  in  Warsaw  20 
1463  Ida:  An  Adventure  in  Morocco  * 

M.  J.  Colquhoun’s  Works. 

624  Primus  in  Indis * 

1469  Every  Inch  a Soldier 20 


Hugh  Conway’S  Works. 

240  Called  Back 

251  The  Daughter  of  the  Stars,  and 


Other  Tales * 

301  Dark  Days * 

302  The  Blatchford  Bequest * 

341  A Dead  Man’s  Face * 

502  Carriston’s  Gift * 

525  Paul  Vargas,  and  Other  Stories  * 

543  A Family  Affair 20 

601  Slings  and  Arrows,  and  Other 

Stories * 

71 1 A Cardinal  Sin 20 

804  Living  or  Dead 20 

830  Bound  by  a Spell 20 

1353  All  In  One 20 

1684  Story  of  a Sculptor * 

1722  Somebody’s  Story * 

J.  Fenimore  Cooper’s  Works. 

60  The  Last  of  the  Mohicans 20 

63  The  Spy 20 

309  The  Pathfinder 20 

310  The  Prairie 20 

318  The  Pioneers ; or,  The  Sources 

of  the  Susquehanna 20 

349  The  Two  Admirals 20 

359  The  Water- Witch 20 

361  The  Red  Rover 20 

373  Wing  and  Wing  20 

378  Homeward  Bound;  or,  The 

Chase 20 

379  Home  as  Found.  (Sequel  to 

“ Homeward  Bound”) 20 

380  Wyandotte;  or,  The  Hutted 

Knoll 20 

385  The  Headsman;  or,  The  Ab- 

baye  des  Vignerons  20 

394  The  Bravo 20 

397  Lionel  Lincoln ; or,  The  Leag- 
uer of  Boston 20 

400  The  Wept  of  Wish-Ton-Wish. . 20 
413  Afloat  and  Ashore 20 


414  Miles  Wallingford.  (Sequel  to 

“ Afloat  and  Ashore  ”) 

415  The  Ways  of  the  Hour 

416  Jack  Tier ; or.  The  Florida  Reef 

419  The  Chainbearer;  or.  The  Lit- 

tle-page Manuscripts 

420  Satanstoe ; or,  The  Littlepage 

Manuscripts 

421  The  Redskins;  or,  Indian  and 

Injin.  Being  the  conclusion 
of  the  Littlepage  Manuscripts 

422  Precaution 

423  The  Sea  Lions;  or.  The  Lost 

Sealers  

424  Mercedes  of  Castile;  or,  The 

Voyage  to  Cathay 

425  The  Oak-Openings;  or,  The 

Bee-Hunter 

431  The  Monikins 

1062  The  Deerslayer;  or,  The  First 

War-Path.  1st  half 

1062  The  Deerslayer;  or,  The  First 

War-Path.  2d  half 

1170  The  Pilot 

Marie  Corelli’s  Works. 

1068  Vendetta ! or,  The  Story  of  One 


Forgotten 

1131  Thelma.  1st  half 

1131  Thelma.  2d  half 

1329  My  Wonderful  Wife ! * 

1663  Wormwood 20 

By  Kinalian  Cornwallis. 

1601  Adrift  With  a Vengeance 30 

By  Madame  Cottin. 

1366  Elizabeth * 

Georgiana  M.  Craik’s  Works. 

450  Godfrey  HelstODe 20 

606  Mrs.  Hollver 20 

1681  A Daughter  of  the  People 20 

By  Oswald  Crawfurd. 

1739  Sylvia  Arden 20 

By  R.  K.  Criswell. 

1584  Grandfather  Lickshingle 20 

B.  M.  Croker’s  Works. 

207  Pretty  Miss  Neville . ..  20 

260  Proper  Pride * 

412  Some  One  Else 20 

1124  Diana  Barrington ..  20 

1607  Two  Masters 20 

May  Crommelin’s  Works. 

452  In  the  West  Countrie 20 

619  Joy;  or.  The  Light  of  Cold- 

Home  Ford 20 

647  Goblin  Gold * 

1327  Midge 20 

1399  Violet  Vyvian,  M.F.H 20 

By  Stuart  C.  Cumberland. 

641  The  Rabbi’s  Spell * 

Mrs.  Dale’s  Works. 

1806  Fair  and  False 20 

1808  Behind  the  Silver  Veil 93 


ggg  gg  g gg  g g gg  g g ggg 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


By  R.  H.  Dana,  Jr. 

311  Two  Years  Before  the  Mast — 20 

By  Frank  Danby. 

1379  The  Copper  Crash 20 

By  Joyce  Darrell. 

163  Winifred  Power 20 

<4  <i<t  t’  fci  t *■ 

5134  Jack 20 

574  The  Nabob : A Story  of  Parisian 
Life  and  Manners 20 

1368  Lise  Tavernier * 

1629  Tartarin  of  Tarascon 20 

1666  Sidonie 20 

1670  The  Little  Good-for-Nothing. . 20 
By  C.  Debaiis. 

1626  A Sheep  in  Wolf’s  Clothing 20 

By  Daniel  Defoe. 

1312  Robinson  Crusoe 30 

By  Count  De  Gobineau. 

1606  Typhaines  Abbey 30 

By  R.  D’Ennery. 

242  The  Two  Orphans * 

By  Hugh  De  Normand. 

1454  The  Gypsy  Queen 20 

Thomas  De  Quincey’s  Works. 

1069  Confessions  of  an  English  Opi- 
um-Eater  20 

1380  The  Spanish  Nun * 

By  Earl  of  Desart. 

1301  The  Little  Chatelaine 20 

By  Elsa  D’Esterre-Keeling. 

382  Three  Sisters * 

Carl  Detlef’s  Works. 

1086  Nora 20 

1418  Irene  . 20 

Charles  Dickens’s  Works. 

10  The  Old  Curiosity  Shop 20 

22  David  Copperfield.  Vol.  I 20 

22  David  Copperfield.  Vol.  II...  20 

24  Pickwick  Papers.  Vol.  1 20 

24  Pickwick  Papers.  Vol.  II 20 

37  Nicholas  Nickleby.  1st  half..  20 

37  Nicholas  Nickleby.  2d  half . . . 20 

41  Oliver  Twist 20 

77  A Tale  of  Two  Cities 20 

84  Hard  Times * 

91  Barnaby  Rudge.  1st  half.  ...  20 

91  Barnaby  Rudge.  2d  half 20 

94  Little  Dorrit.  1st  half 20 

94  Little  Dorrit.  2d  half 20 

106  Bleak  House.  1st  half 20 

106  Bleak  House.  2d  half 20 

107  Dombey  and  Son.  1st  half  ...  20 

107  Dombey  and  Son.  2d  half 20 


108  The  Cricket  on  the  Hearth,  and 

Doctor  Marigold * 

131  Our  Mutual  Friend.  1st  half.  20 

131  Our  Mutual  Friend.  2d  half..  20 

132  Master  Humphrey’s  Clock....  * 
152  The  Uncommercial  Traveler..  20 
168  No  Thoroughfare.  By  Dickens 

and  Collins * 


169  The  Haunted  Man * 

437  Life  and  Adventures  of  Martin 
Chuzzlewit.  1st  half 20 


437  Life  and  Adventures  of  Martin 
Chuzzlewit.  2d  half 

439  Great  Expectations 

440  Mrs.  Lirriper’s  Lodgings 

447  American  Notes 

448  Pictures  From  Italy,  and  The 

Mud  fog  Papers,  *&c 

454  The  Mystery  of  Edwin  Drood. 
456  Sketches  by  Boz.  Illustrative 
of  Every-day  Life  and  Every- 
day People 

676  A Child’s  History  of  England. 

731  The  Boy  at  Mugby 

1520  Sketches  of  Young  Couples. . . 

1529  The  Haunted  House,  etc 

1533  A Christmas  Carol,  etc 

1541  Somebody’s  Luggage. 

1608  Tales  of  Two  Idle  Apprentices. 
By  Charles  Dickens  and  Wil- 
kie Collins ! . . 

By  the  Rt.  Hon.  Benjamin  Disr 
eli,  Earl  of  Beaconsfield. 
793  Vivian  Grey.  In  two  parts,  each 
By  the  Author  of  “ Dr.  Edit! 
Romney.” 

612  My  Wife’s  Niece 

Sarah  Doudney’s  Works. 

338  The  Family  Difficulty 

679  Where  Two  Ways  Meet 

Edmund  Downey’s  Works. 

1746  A House  of  Tears 

1793  In  One  Town 

By  A.  Conan  Doyle. 

1305  The  Firm  of  Girdlestone 

F.  Du  Boisgobey’s  Works. 

82  Sealed  Lips 

104  The  Coral  Pin.  1st  half 

104  The  Coral  Pin.  2d  half 

264  Pi6douche,  a French  Detective 
328  Babiole,  the  Pretty  Milliner. 

First  half 

328  Babiole,  the  Pretty  Milliner. 

Second  half 

453  The  Lottery  Ticket 

475  The  Prima  Donna’s  Husband. 

522  Zig-Zag,  the  Clown;  or,  The 

Steel  Gauntlets 

523  The  Consequences  of  a Duel.  A 

Parisian  Romance 

648  The  Angel  of  the  Bells 

697  The  Pretty  Jailer.  1st  half . . . 
697  The  Pretty  Jailer.  2d  half.. .. 
699  The  Sculptor’s  Daughter.  1st 

half  -. 

699  The  Sculptor’s  Daughter.  2d 

half 

782  The  Closed  Door.  1st  half 

782  The  Closed  Door.  2d  half 

851  The  Cry  of  Blood.  1st  half. . . 
851  The  Crv  of  Blood.  2d  half. . . . 

918  The  Red  Band.  1st  half 

918  The  Red  Band,  2d  half 


ggggggg  g gggg  g ggg  g ,ggg  g gg  ..  g " B ? g »g***gg  88  8*88 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


9 


942  Cash  on  Delivery 20 

1076  The  Mystery  of  an  Omnibus . . 20 

1080  Bertha’s  Secret.  1st  half 20 

1080  Bertha’s  Secret.  2d  half 20 

1082  The  Severed  Hand.  1st  half . . 20 
1082  The  Severed  Hand.  2d  half..  20 


1085  The  Matapan  Affair.  1st  half  20 
1085  The  Matapan  Affair.  2d  half  20 
1088  The  Old  Age  of  Monsieur  Le- 


coq.  1st  half 20 

1088  The  Old  Age  of  Monsieur  Le- 

coq.  2d  half 20 

1730  The  Blue  Veil 20 

1762  The  Detective’s  Eye * 

1765  The  Red  Lottery  Ticket 20 

1777  A Fight  for  a Fortune 20 

“The  Duchess’s”  Works. 

2 Molly  Bawn 20 

6 Portia 20 

14  Airy  Fairy  Lilian 20 

16  Phyllis 20 

25  Mrs.  Geoffrey.  (Large  type 

edition) 20 

950  Mrs.  Geoffrey * 

29  Beauty’s  Daughters * 

30  Faith  and  Unfaith 20 


118  Loys,  Lord  Berresford,  and 

Eric  Dering * 

119  Monica,  and  A Rose  Distill’d. . * 

123  Sweet  is  True  Love . * 

129  Rossmoyne * 

134  The  Witching  Hour,  and  Other 

Stories * 

136  “That  Last  Rehearsal,”  and 

Other  Stories * 

166  Moonshine  and  Marguerites. ..  * 
171  Fortune’s  Wheel,  and  Other 
Stories * 


284  Doris 20 

312  A Week’s  Amusement;  or,  A 

Week  in  Killarney * 

342  The  Baby,  and  One  New  Year’s 

Eve * 

390  Mildred  Trevanion * 

404  In  Durance  Vile,  and  Other 

Stories * 

486  Dick’s  Sweetheart 20 

494  A Maiden  All  Forlorn,  and  Bar- 
bara   * 

517  A Passive  Crime,  and  Other 

Stories * 

541  “ As  It  Fell  Upon  a Day.” * 

733  Lady  Branksmere 20 

771  A Mental  Struggle 20 

785  The  Haunted  Chamber * 

862  Ugly  Barrington * 

875  Lady  Valworth’s  Diamonds. . . 20 
1009  In  an  Evil  Hour,  and  Other 

Stories 20 

1016  A Modern  Circe 20 

1035  The  Duchess 20 

1047  Marvel 20 

1103  The  Honorable  Mrs.  Vereker. . 20 

1123  Under-Currents 20 

1197  “Jerry.”  — “That  Night  in 
June.”— A Wrong  Turning.— 

Irish  Love  and  Marriage * 

1209  A Troublesome  Girl 20 


1249  A Life’s  Remorse 

1333  A Born  Coquette 

1363  “April’s  Lady” 

1453  Her  Last  Throw 

Alexander  Dumas’s  Works. 

55  The  Three  Guardsmen 

75  Twenty  Years  After 

262  The  Count  of  Monte-Cristo. 

Part  I 

262  The  Count  of  Monte-Cristo. 

Part  II 

717  Beau  Tancrede ; or,  The  Mar- 
riage Verdict 

1055  Masaniello;  or,  The  Fisherman 

of  Naples 

1340  The  Son  of  Monte-Cristo.  1st 

half 

1340  The  Son  of  Monte-Cristo.  2d 

half 

1642  Monte-Cristo  and  His  Wife.  A 
Sequel  to  the  “ Count  of  Mon- 
te-Cristo.”  

1645  The  Countess  of  Monte-Cristo. 

(Part  I.) 

1645  The  Countess  of  Monte-Cristo. 

(Part  II.) 

1676  Camille. . . . ; 

George  Ebers’s  Works. 

474  Serapis.  An  Historical  Novel 
983  Uarda 

1056  The  Bride  of  the  Nile.  1st  half 
1056  The  Bride  of  the  Nile.  2d  half 

1094  Homo  Sum 

1097  The  Burgomaster’s  Wife 

1101  An  Egyptian  Princess.  Vol.  I. 
1101  An  Egyptian  Princess.  Vol.  II. 

1106  The  Emperor 

1112  Only  a Word 

1114  The  Sisters 

1198  Gred  of  Nuremberg.  A Ro- 
mance of  the  Fifteenth  Cent- 
ury  

1266  Joshua:  A Biblical  Picture 

Mario.  Edgeworth’s  Works. 

708  Ormond 

788  The  Absentee.  An  Irish  Story. 
Amelia  B.  Edwards’s  Works. 
99  Barbara’s  History 

1364  My  Brother’s  Wife 

Mrs.  Annie  Edwards’s  Works 
644  A Girton  Girl 

834  A Ballroom  Repentance 

835  Vivian  the  Beauty 

836  A Point  of  Honor 

837  A Vagabond  Heroine 

838  Ought  We  to  Visit  Her? 

839  Leah:  A Woman  of  Fashion. . 

841  Jet:  Her  Face  or  Her  Fortune? 

842  A Blue-Stocking 

843  Archie  Lovell 

844  Susan  Fielding 

845  Philip  Earnscliffe  ; or.  The 

Morals  of  May  Fair 

846  Steven  Lawrence.  1st  half. .. 

846  Steven  Lawrence.  2d  half.... 
850  A Playwright’s  Daughter 


* 


888  88**88*8888’  88  88  88  88888888888  *8  88  8 8 8 8 8 8 88  8888 


10 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY— Pocket  Edition. 


By  H.  Sutherland  Edwards. 

917  The  Case  of  Reuben  Malachi.  * 


By  Mrs.  C.  J.  Eiloarf. 

114  Some  of  Our  Girls 20 

George  Eliot’s  Works* 

3 The  Mill  on  the  Floss 20 

31  Middleinareh.  1st  half 20 

31  Middlemarch.  2d  half 20 

34  Daniel  Deronda.  1st  half 20 

34  Daniel  Deronda.  2d  half 20 

36  Adam  Bede.  1st  half 20 

36  Adam  Bede.  2d  half 20 

42  Romola 20 

693  Felix  Holt,  the  Radical 20 


707  Silas  Marner:  The  Weaver  of 

Ravel  oe 

728  Janet’s  Repentance 

762  Impressions  of  Theophrastus 

Such 

1441  Amos  Barton 

1*501  The  Spanish  Gypsy,  and  Other 


Poems 20 

1504  Brother  Jacob * 

By  Frances  Elliot. 

381  The  Red  Cardinal * 

By  Eva  Evergreen. 

1358  Agatha 20 

By  Juliana  Horatia  Ewing. 

752  Jackanapes,  and  Other  Stories  * 
By  Kate  Eyre, 

1804  A Step  in  the  Dark 20 

Olive  P.  Fairchild’s  Works. 

1800  A Choice  of  Chance 20 

1802  A Struggle  for  Love 20 

By  H,  Farley. 

1625  Christmas  Stories 20 

B.  li«  Farjeon’s  Works. 

179  Little  Make-Believe * 

573  Love’s  Harvest 20 

607  Self-Doomed * 

616  The  Sacred  Nugget 20 

657  Christmas  Angel * 

907  The  Bright  Star  of  Life 20 

909  The  Nine  of  Hearts 20 

1383  The  Mystery  of  M.  Felix 20 

1518  Gautran 20 

1735  A Very  Young  Couple 20 

1790  A Secret  Inheritance 20 

1791  Basil  and  Annette 30 

By  the  Hon.  Mrs.  Featherston- 

haugli. 

1343  Dream  Faces 20 

By  Heinrich  Felbermann. 

355  The  Princess  Dagomar  of  Po- 
land   * 

G.  Manville  Fenn’s  Works, 

193  The  Roserv  Folk * 

558  Poverty  Corner 20 

587  The  Parson  o’  Dumford 20 

609  The  Dark  House * 

1169  Commodore  Junk 20 


1276  The  Mynns’  Mystery 30 

1293  In  Jeopardy 20 


1302  The  Master  of  the  Ceremonies 

1313  Eve  at  the  Wheel 

1344  One  Maid’s  Mischief 

1387  Eli’s  Children 

1680  This  Man’s  Wife 

1694  The  Bag  of  Diamonds 

1743  The  Haute  Noblesse. 

1749  Storv  of  Anthony  Grace 

1788  Black  Blood 

1799  Lady  Maude’s  Mania 

Octave  Feuillet’s  Works. 

66  The  Romance  of  a Poor  Young 

Man 

386  Led  Astray;  or,  “ La  Petite 

Comtesse  ” 

1427  A Marriage  in  High  Life 

Gertrude  Forde’s  Works. 

1072  Only  a Coral  Girl 

1349  In  the  Old  Palazzo 

By  R.  E.  Forrest. 

879  The  Touchstone  of  Peril 

Mrs.  Forrester’s  Works. 

80  June 

280  Omnia  Vanitas.  A Tale  of  So- 
ciety   

484  Although  He  Was  a Lord,  and 

Other  Tales 

715  I Have  Lived  and  Loved 

721  Dolores 

724  My  Lord  and  My  Lady 

726  My  Hero 

727  Fair  Women 

729  Mignon 

732  From  Olympus  to  Hades 

734  Viva 

736  Roy  and  Viola 

740  Rhona 

744  Diana  Carew ; or,  For  a Wom- 
an’s Sake 

883  Once  Again 

1637  A Young  Man’s  Fancy 

Jessie  Fothergill’s  Works. 


314  Peril 

572  Healey 

935  Borderland 

1099  The  Lasses  of  Leverhouse.  ...  20 

1275  A March  i i the  Ranks 20 

1377  The  First  Violin 20 


By  Francesca. 

53  The  Story  of*Ida 

R.  E.  Fraucillon’s  Works. 

135  A Great  Heiress:  A Fortune 


in  Seven  Checks * 

319  Face  to  Face : A Fact  in  Seven 

Fables * 

360  Ropes  of  Sand 20 

656  The  Golden  Flood.  By  R.  E. 
Francillon  and  Win.  Senior. . 5(4 

911  Golden  Bells 20 

1566  A Real  Queen 20 

By  A.  Franklyn. 

1470  Ameline  de  Bourg 20 


ggg  ggg  gggggggggg*  * g 8 gg  g*  * gggggggggg 


THE  SEASIDE  LIBRARY. —Pocket  Edition. 

Always  I)iicliaii»«4l  stn<l  Uii:il>ri<l»ed. 

WITH  HANDSOME  LITHOGRAPHED  PAPER  COVER. 

LATEST  ISSUES: 


NO.  PRICE. 

1619  A Marriage  at  Sea.  By  W. 

Clark  Russell 20 

1623  City  and  Suburban.  By  Flor- 
ence Warden 20 

1627  A Romance  of  the  Wire.  By 

M.  Bethain-Edwards 20 

1631  Heart  of  Gold.  By  L.  T.  Meade  20 

1635  The  World’s  Desire.  By  H. 
Rider  Haggard  and  Andrew 

Lang 20 

1639  Work  While  Ye  Have  the  Light. 

By  Count  Lyof  Tolstoi 20 

1643  Brave  Heart  and  True.  By 

Florence  Marryat 20 

1647  Curb  and  Snaffle.  By  Sir  Ran- 
dal H.  Roberts,  Bart 20 

1651  The  Black  Box  Murder.  By 
the  Man  who  Discovered  the 

Murderer 20 

1655  The  Demoniac.  By  Walter 

Besant 20 

1659  A Black  Business.  By  Hawley 

Smart * 

1663  Wormwood.  By  Marie  Corelli.  20 

1667  He  Went  for  a Soldier.  By 

John  Strange  Winter 20 

1671  Long  Odds.  Bv  Hawley  Smart  20 

1675  Marcia.  By  W.  E.  Norris 20 

1679  The  Sloane  Square  Scandal. 

Bjr  Annie  Thomas 20 

1683  A Weird  Gift.  By  Georges 

Ohnet 20 

1685  The  Wonderful  Adventures  of 
Phra  the  Phoenician.  Retold 

by  Edwin  Lester  Arnold 20 

1687  In  Exchange  for  a Soul.  By 

Mary  Lin  skill 20 

1691  Elizabeth  Morle  v.  By  Kathar- 
ine S.  Macquoid 20 

1695  The  Case  of  Gen’l  Ople  and 
Lady  Camper.  By  George 

Meredith * 

1699  The  Wing  of  Azrael.  By  Mona 

Caird 20 

1703  Passion  the  Plaything.  By  R. 

Murray  Gilchrist  * 

1707  Famous  or  Infamous?  By  Ber- 
tha Thomas. . 20 

1711  The  Pennycomequicks.  By  S. 

Baring-Gould. 20 

1713  Jezebel’s  Friends.  By  Dora 

Russell  20 

1717  Comedy  of  a Country  House. 

By  Julian  Sturgis 20 

1719  The  Light  That  Failed.  By 
Rudyard  Kipling 20 


NO.  PRICE-* 


1721  The  Other  Man’s  Wife.  By 

John  Strange  Winter 20 

1725  Stand  Fast,  Craig-Royston ! By 

William  Black 2d 

1729  Missing:  A Young  Girl.  By 

Florence  Warden * 

1731  The  Tree  of  Knowledge.  By  G. 

M.  Robins 20 

1735  A Very  Young  Couple.  By  B. 

L.  Farjeon 20 

1739  Sylvia  Arden.  By  Oswald 

Crawfurd 20 

1743  The  Haute  Noblesse.  By 

George  ManvilleFenn 20 

1747  Le  Beau  Sabreur.  By  Anna 

Thomas 20 

1751  A Bitter  Birthright.  Bjr  Dora 

Russell 20 

1755  A Bride  from  the  Bush.  By  A 

New  Writer 20 

1759  The  Honorable  Miss.  By  L.  T. 

Meade  • 20 

1763  John  Herring.  By  S.  Baring- 

Gould 30 

1767  Dramas  of  Life.  By  George  R. 

Sims 20 

1771  The  Wages  of  Sin.  By  Lucas 

Malet 30 

1775  Name  and  Fame.  By  Adeline 

Sergeant  and  Ewing  Lester. . . 20 
1779  Arminell.  By  S.  Baring-Gould  30 
1783  The  Great  Taboo.  By  Grant 

Allen 20 

1787  The  House  of  Halliwell.  By 

Mrs.  Henry  Wood 30 

1791  Basil  and  Annette.  By  B.  L. 

Farjeon 30 

1795  The  Dead  Heart.  By  Charles 

Gibbon 20 

1799  Lady  Maude’s  Mania.  By  Geo. 

Manville  Fenn 20 


1803  Lucy  Temple.  By  Mrs.  Row- 

son  * 

1807  The  Tale  of  Chloe.  By  George 

Meredith * 

1809  Under  the  Deodars.  By  Rud- 

yard Kipling * 

1810  A Laggard  in  Love.  By  Jean  e 

Gwynne  Bett any ~ 20 

1811  Daughters  of  Eve.  By  Paul 

Meritt 20 

1812  Merry,  Merry  Boys.  By  B.  L. 

Farjeon 20 


1813  The  Greatest  Thing  in  the 
World.  By  Henry  Drum- 
mond, F,  R.  S.  E.  and  F.  G.  S.  20 


The  foregoing  works,  contained  in  The  Seaside  Library,  Pocket  Edition, 
are  for  sale  by  all  newsdealers,  or  will  he  sent  to  any  address,  postage  free,  oh 
receipt  of  price.  Parties  ordering  by  mail  will  please  order  by  numbers.  Ad- 
dress 

GEORGE  MUNRO,  Munro’s  Publishing  House, 

P O.  Box  3751.  17  to  XI  Vanpkwater  Street,  New  York. 


LL5RE 

SOON 


Girls  who  use 
U0  are 


QUICKLY  MARRIED' 


SAPOLIO  is  on©  of  the  bsst  &nown  city  luxuries  and  each  time  a cake 
is  used  an  hour  is  saved.  On  Soors,  tables  and  painted  work  it  acts  like 
a charm.  For  scouring  pots,  pans  and  metals  it  has  no  equal.  If  your 
ctore-keeper  does  not  keep  it  you  should  insist  upon  his  doing  so,  as  it 
always  gives  satisfaction  and  its  immense  sale  all  over  the  United  States 
makes  it  an  almost  necessary  article  to  any  well  supplied  store.  Every- 
thing shines  after  its  use,  and  even  the  children  delight  in  using  it  in 
their  attempts  to  help  around  the  house « 


WATERPROOF  COLLAR  on  CUFF 


THAT  CAN  BE  RELIED  ON 


BE  UP 
T© 

THE  MARK 


Not  -to  g5T>lrt  t 

jF»r<o>T  to  x^i^oox<oar! 


BEARS  THIS  MARK. 


NEEDS  NO  LAUNDERING.  CAN  BE  WIPED  CLEAN  IN  A MOMENT* 


THE  ONLY  LINEN-LINED  WATERPROOF 
COLLAR  IN  THE  MARKET. 


SOAPS  & 

PERFUMES 


To  Americans  it  is  a strange  sight  to  see  a large  field  planted  with 
rose  bushes,  in  long,  straight  rows,  very  much  as  corn  is  cultivated  in 
this  country. 

Yet  there  are  hundreds  of  fields  in  Southern  France,  like  the  on© 
shown  in  the  above  picture,  which  bear  no  less  than  180,000  lbs,  or  90 
tons  of  roses  each  year,  for  Colgate  & Co. 

As  the  perfume  of  a flower  is  more  fragrant  in  the  early  morning, 
great  care  is  exercised  to  secure  the  roses  from  only  those  farmers  who 
gather  their  flowers  early  in  the  morning,  before  the  dew  has  dried  from 
the  leaves,  and  the  hot  sun  drawn  off  the  perfume. 

It  is  this  attention  to  the  minutest  detail  in  obtaining  only  the 
choicest  kind  of  perfume,  and  the  best  of  materials,  which  has  secured  for 
Olgate  & Co.  the  highest  awards  at  World  Expositions,  and  gives  un- 
wfr  %lled  superiority  to  their  Soaps  and  Perfumes,  the  favorite  of  which 

CASHMERE  BOUQUET. 


